It’s almost the end of NaPoWriMo again, so I guess a sort of nostalgia is kicking in…
It’s that time of the year again
when the sky cracks in two
releasing its angels, when the walls
put on a new coat of paint
and call it even with the vestal forest.
This is all unavoidable. Some say
it has always been this way.
So, at this time of the year,
all fugitives and seekers
take shelter under the bones
of their ancestors, erasing time.