The Past Is the Present
Only Colder

At night, everything feels. Even a river
feels its way through the woods, mumbling.

Slight edge in its voice. Enough to pry
a door open a crack. Then light through

the haze. The earth covers its face
with brush. Flagstones elbow each other
Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.