acclimation’s adept.
acceded the acclimodept to start, considering the groundwork of his art: we say: “go to the edges, strive, bring the borders back alive inside youreflexing mind and muscle.” and yes, i will admit the sense of center is a side we sometimes…
he counts the curves on a cloud near the sun, the only one in a close-to-clear sky; then he curtains that window of clarity closed, finds and follows the flight of a fly against the gloom of his shuttered room. he fumbles…
water warrants, by its winding: burning is a brand of binding. wendigo whispers on the wing: skinning skies soothes star[v]ing’s sting. willow waves in winter wild: choices chisel chief from child. in the white between day and night, the acolyte is winnowhittled.…