Birds fly
with bones
that are hollowed.
This is the hollowing
time, the giving
over. I have
nothing left
to give you
save my marrow.
This is the hallowing
time, the season
of holy. I
can offer only
the blank page
of tomorrow.
Birds fly
with bones
that are hollowed.
This is the hollowing
time, the giving
over. I have
nothing left
to give you
save my marrow.
This is the hallowing
time, the season
of holy. I
can offer only
the blank page
of tomorrow.
