Poetry Is the Gnomic Utterance from Which the Soul Springs, Fluttering Yesterday, the sky in mute horizontal swaths, air almost too thick to breathe. We found the stump of an old oak, man- sized, burning without flame at the end of a clearing—splintered wood raw, bulldozed roots exposed— even the black ants fled in the stink of old grief made public and final, old hopes exposed— past tense!—now headless leafless a stump knocked half out of the earth and the soul just blue smoke vague and slow-spreading rising without grace into an indifferent sky no one will paint, or photograph, or see— except us: yesterday. ᯓ press arrows or space bar! song: lover girl by laufey! DTAS/OTAS: yess DTIYS: yes AT: yes <3 ofc ofc ofc rps: possibly
