Memories of lives lie twisted in sand, recumbent.
There are there recovered centuries,
as in loam the last jawbone
of an aurochs or
honshu wolf.
All contours unrelentingly erode inland.
We've lost the body
within,
from the heart
of the roan-haired ox
to the sole
makami of the mountain.
Something happens.
There are there recovered centuries,
as in loam the last jawbone
of an aurochs or
honshu wolf.
All contours unrelentingly erode inland.
We've lost the body
within,
from the heart
of the roan-haired ox
to the sole
makami of the mountain.
Something happens.
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