Tag Archives: crumbling of time.

Waking softly, slowly

Every day’s the first day of something or other, so we remember the blue. And the blues. The used toothpaste tube. The scent of rain, fading. The crumbling of time. And the way this sly sky holds court with tree … Continue reading

Posted in dVerse poems, Quadrille | Tagged , , , , , , , | 33 Comments