From the feather edge of thoughts, stewards like marching memories stand red brick building firm. I see the common space between here and there; a sliver of everything important. I sense the layers removed. There is persuasion when the untold surfaces of common spaces, rehabilitate gray skies into the summer of youth Breezes find … More I HEAR THE SOUND
GRAY AND FLAT A following of suitcases, faces moving under gray metal skies. Faith long ago leaped away, claiming a lost kingdom from a ragged past. Abandoned without gain they all walk city streets, moving in mass around corners past lights and buildings. They follow without leading. Regularly looking back.