The Bottom
"My melancholy was gold dust in your hands" -Alfonsina Storni If there is only one way to go from here, Can someone point me? I think I am lost... left and right aren't working and the ground is too solid my fingernails too soiled to dig any deeper. i know there is a fifth direction around here, somewhere another way this can go... and while I am resolute in stillness listening for a clue keeping my nostrils open to smell that pie in the sky well, the shape of it is all muddy, murky and monstrously cold. no matter i remember spring soft baby birds with their gray-peach fuzz chirp... the tender buds crystallized against mourning's do. so i will get there, wherever that fifth direction is, because one season always follows another.