Jennifer wrote me the following poem in a creative flurry. I think it reminds me of something I read...
Masterpiece
You’ll see the horizon
Even though it isn’t there
They get bigger as you get closer
They go on forever
Will you touch them?
They are brown and tan
Old religions and druids
Nobody can know
And there is no fabric to hold it
To the landscape
I’ll say something
And you’ll answer
We can wash clovers. Believe it. Believe we can.
Into the wavering green and out of the sunny edged forest
Only the worse of games. The most evil intentions.
Everything all at once
The Butchers’ desires.
Hateful and seething. We are the worst.
There is nothing here. Empty.
They won’t remember us.