dew on my covers,
pie on my breath,
vague memories of late night kitchen dancing, soft light and laughter
looking up into the fog caught slipping through the redwoods
I awoke my last day in the Chadwick garden,
wood chips pressed into my cheek, my fellow farmies stirring
the banksia rose arbor our four poster bed
1 comment:
Do you mean you are no longer there, jess?
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