by Brooks
In the spaces where dust gathers, we find offerings of sacred debris— star fluff tossed off in the soul's shedding of matter.
The Gods insist I honor these growing dust fluffs never touching a broom to them.
I am obedient.
©2005 Brooks
In the spaces where dust gathers, we find offerings of sacred debris— star fluff tossed off in the soul's shedding of matter.
The Gods insist I honor these growing dust fluffs never touching a broom to them.
I am obedient.
©2005 Brooks