Whatever in me is discrete, closed off, grown askew in aloneness, I offer to you, small as it is sure to be. A bonsai love: a whole tree forced low, bent but blooming
Read More
Whatever in me is discrete, closed off, grown askew in aloneness, I offer to you, small as it is sure to be. A bonsai love: a whole tree forced low, bent but blooming
Read Less