Currently
by kholinar
Under the crests,
into the trough,
succumbing to
a lesser loss.
You’re fielding crops
as the soil
exhausts.
Salt water
on our heads,
and in our eyes,
withers every stalk.
Under the crests,
into the trough,
succumbing to
a lesser loss.
You’re fielding crops
as the soil
exhausts.
Salt water
on our heads,
and in our eyes,
withers every stalk.