They Will Sew the Blue Sail

“NOW I AM ALL FACE” | Hannah Brooks-Motl

The garden turned cold with our garb

Its long lovely lines

Simple words fashion a bra, a scarf

The sequence of huts

“In which they bury their fruit trees in winter”

Someone wears it, thick like a proverb

A tumbler of black wine

Tipped out and retaining its shape

That was my freak code, “the frosts

So bitter at the mouth”