The Language With Which I Make My

Each Arrow You Shoot Off Carries Its Own Target Into The Decidedly Secret Tangle

With A Changing Key, You Unlock The House Where The Snow Of What’s Silenced Drifts. Just Like The Blood That Bursts From Your Eye Or Mouth Or Ear, So Your Key Changes. Changing Your Key Changes The Word That May Drift With Flakes. Just Like The Wind That Rebuffs You, Clenched Round Your Word Is The Snow.

There Was Earth Inside Them, And They Dug.

You're Rowing By Wordlight

Spring: Trees Flying Up To Their Birds