Gregory Euclide:
As if muting the land was part of knowing
Gregory Euclide:
The harrow held stillness on the crest
Gregory Euclide:
In what mist had bloomed
Gregory Euclide:
The oranger side of oyster cluster's tiny pockets
Gregory Euclide:
If I was the river I was only projecting
Gregory Euclide:
Held on history's material desire