Somewhere, as we breathe, an archeress stretches her shoulders
giving way to her bow, crossing in accuracy, hitting no aim at all—
her arrow wanders with the wind amongst a desert of emeralds
then settles as a thorn in a flora until it’s taken out of its home—
and reacquainted with recurve again to find flight somewhere else.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 3:31 PM UTC
Somewhere, as we breathe, an archeress stretches her shoulders
giving way to her bow, crossing in accuracy, hitting no aim at all—
her arrow wanders with the wind amongst a desert of emeralds
then settles as a thorn in a flora until it’s taken out of its home—
and reacquainted with recurve again to find flight somewhere else.
