Quote
This bright melancholy—
In summers missing you.
Quick folk strings
On an old guitar
And yellow wheat fields
Owned by racing trains.
A stranger’s lilting tongue
Singing songs
Like he knows us.
But it’s an old radio
And he doesn’t grace our shores.
But tomorrow—
The changeable sea will be jealous
Eyeing us in green
For we are constant
If not sailing on a steady wind
—To love.
— “Paper Kites” - S. Howson (May ‘12)
(Source: nanalew)
