Time will append us like suit coats left out overnight
On a deck chair, loose change dead weight in the right pocket,
Silk handkerchief limp with dew,
sleeves in a slow dance with the wind.
And love will kill us,–
Love, and the winds from under the earth
that grind us to grain-out.
da Still life with spring and time to burn –
– in copertina
ph. Anna Roberts