Feb 2019
I am an outstretched arm with a fibrous grain.
I am a whooshing, waving, slashing glaive.
Waiting to cut the wind with a bending sway.
And with a gleam of blue the ball darts away.
I am a whooshing, waving, slashing glaive.
Waiting to cut the wind with a bending sway.
And with a gleam of blue the ball darts away.
What it feels like, what I am
