The Advent One.
"I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant
A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality."
How Sylvia wedges her words into these tiny slits of grace is a miracle itself.
And a song from the perspective of John? That ache is real. Waiting does seem like the greater sacrifice.
"I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant
A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality."
How Sylvia wedges her words into these tiny slits of grace is a miracle itself.
And a song from the perspective of John? That ache is real. Waiting does seem like the greater sacrifice.