March 2009
And in a story told she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field and there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed. And it rose like thunder, clapped under our hands, and it stretched for centuries to a diary entry’s end where I wrote, “You make me happy oh!! when skies are gray” “You make me happy oh!! when skies are gray and gray and...
