You’d think that I’d be too old to follow deer paths
Yet here I am tunneling in a half-crouch through thickets & briar
Like a man who’s lost something only beasts dream of
The way back to that calm oblivion
When memory was an arrow pointing elsewhere
Towards some garden buried in Anatolia for twelve thousand years
Wes Czyzewski
Yet here I am tunneling in a half-crouch through thickets & briar
Like a man who’s lost something only beasts dream of
The way back to that calm oblivion
When memory was an arrow pointing elsewhere
Towards some garden buried in Anatolia for twelve thousand years
Wes Czyzewski