Black ridges, like built shadows
where the lane lines were.
Dirt on the snow,
rain on the snow,
killers at school.
The outdoors are the same.
Full of gorgeous product, mostly irreversible, and the sun
clashes with new clouds.
The actors are made of wood in the meadow.
Even being in the world gets old.
Lying in the spring together on the phone.
New Clouds
Emily Hunt

New Clouds

Emily Hunt

Floating Wolf Quarterly Cover_wolf