Under the streetlamp cars glistened end to end clogging the cul de sac and driveway
I swim in his beard diving deep my breath giving out quickly in spite of all I know to do, all that he has taught me, my Merlin, he has schooled me in the things of the pot—the dragon’s blood and the mistletoe and the black willow—he has...
Why did it fascinate me so much, that ditch my father had dug in the front lawn to fix a faulty pipe? I couldn’t keep
Wheat, mostly, to David Davies, flax to the Owens, every month a careful list of profit