I had lives before this, stems Of a spray of flowers: they became One thing, held by a ribbon at the centre, a ribbon Visible under the hand. Above the hand, The branching future, stems Ending in flowers. And the gripped fist— That would be the self in the present.
The branching future, stems
The branching future, stems
The branching future, stems
I had lives before this, stems Of a spray of flowers: they became One thing, held by a ribbon at the centre, a ribbon Visible under the hand. Above the hand, The branching future, stems Ending in flowers. And the gripped fist— That would be the self in the present.