Tag: a word after a word
-
Atwood, Eyes Closed
Look at her. That’s her portrait. Her eyes are closed. Her smile more enigmatic than the Louvre could contain. She could be dreaming. She could be recalling the warmth of his arms. She could be remembering the garden. She could be imagining peace and birdsong and the bee-loud glen, of beauty none of us would…
cacoethes scribendi 