You are here


Elizabeth Burns

The fog that is like    but more rare

The wind that is like    but not so sharp

The sand that is like    but turns to mud

The hills that are like    but more peopled

The flowers that are like    but bloom earlier

The beach that is like    but more crowded

The summers that are like    but darken quickly

The air that is like    but not so sweet 


From Painted, Spoken No 8 (2005)

Explore more