Your face, your mouth, your shoulderinconceivable to me now!Where did they go? It’s likeI dreamed them. The stones we broughthome from the beach lie face upon the windowsill, cooling.Come home. Do you hear?
Raymond Carver
Your face, your mouth, your shoulderinconceivable to me now!Where did they go? It’s likeI dreamed them. The stones we broughthome from the beach lie face upon the windowsill, cooling.Come home. Do you hear?