So the fields are stubble, the garden is done where the scary scarecrow stands and sees her holding up horizons with her hands. Watch her memories of human voices drown. Let horsey bray break between the thunder boom. Make grasses' swish meet the cricket's ring. Let every sound consecrate our whispering words that Betta never heard.
Winter dies the same way every spring.
As the skytries on its uniform of turned off t.v. Make footsteps tick, talk to echoed walls. Let every sound consecrate our whispering the words that Betta never heard. Let every wind howl and creak the creaking doors to rooms that too much has happened in. Let every sound consecrate our whispering the words that Betta never heard.