Every time summer vacation came round, the parents were in the habit of sending their two children to the country, far away from the bustle of the city. So every July, Julien and his little siste ... [+]
Originally published in "The Futurist's Mistress" by Mayapple Press, 2006
The gray field of the rain had risen.
She slept on the worn patchwork quilt
of the sky.
When she woke up,
she dreamt that her house was flying,
that a witch rode by—
past the clouds, on a bicycle.
Where was the air going?
The wind poured out from her eyes.
She slept on the worn patchwork quilt
of the sky.
When she woke up,
she dreamt that her house was flying,
that a witch rode by—
past the clouds, on a bicycle.
Where was the air going?
The wind poured out from her eyes.