Jun 2015
The buffalo is wading deeply
into the mud.
Ripe is the rice.
And white.
There’s almost no wind.
Sun in circles.
Rice is the door,
quietly is rustling at ajaring...
into the mud.
Ripe is the rice.
And white.
There’s almost no wind.
Sun in circles.
Rice is the door,
quietly is rustling at ajaring...
