Dead bunny season Every cycle ride, I find baby softness bleeding out on the tarmac: dead rabbits like toddlers’ lost comforters, only limper, more fragile. Stilled, their eyes are glass, spilling grassy skies. Loss fast-revs
Continue ReadingCategory: Sarah Leavesley
Steps
Steps Overnight, garden steps become puddles – slivers of melted ice trying to return to lake or sea. Imagine Raleigh spreading his cloak, this fabric flowing over, maybe soaking up a little water-spill. Only this
Continue Reading