The Other Hand

After writing all morning, I set off to watch the sun hover over the desert. I hike into the mountains and sit against an aspen tree. From above, I see the desert floor spread out, a vast porch leading to a well-lit house beyond the horizon, many of its rooms, though, filled with darkness.

rice paper
raven song from the end
of my brush

Keith Polette

The Other Hand

2 thoughts on “The Other Hand

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