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Dream of Hands
By Joanna Klink
Skies over fields, hatch-marks of rain. Rich smoke lifting from Plain hay-like things. When night fell again the eerie flute-call Already have an account? Log in Join KR for even […]
Processional
By Joanna Klink
If there is a world, let me be in it. Let fires arise and pass. The sky fill with evening air then sink across the woodlots and porches, the streams […]
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