By: Ted Mc Carthy I Dark is falling on the river, on the milk of insects, on eggs under the dockleaves, such dark as the long evening permits. The air is tart with the scent of herbs of forgetfulness, spores that…
By: Ted Mc Carthy I Dark is falling on the river, on the milk of insects, on eggs under the dockleaves, such dark as the long evening permits. The air is tart with the scent of herbs of forgetfulness, spores that…