The Arrival

1 Minute Read Time

A forest of trees with snow-covered branches
Photo by Niki Clark on Unsplash
It is winter but
the poets are still coming.
I once lived in a
town where there were no poets
or children. The trees
were made of salt. When the wind
shook, nothing happened
but daylight. There were no hands
since there was nothing to take.

Read more from Issue 18.2.

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