Tag: time

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the gulls face the waves perched on their own reflections water reaches nothing is washed away except time from this day © Sarah Whiteley

2.10.2015

these things cannot yet be called memory - too fresh, too new, too aware of their own being to be relegated to the corners of ponderous afternoons how that spring you sprouted, sudden and furious in the sanctum of breast, winnowing tendrilled assurances around and … Continue reading 2.10.2015