Our backyard is a sea of landscape rocks.
A shaded corner harbors a scrawny patch of wild grass.
The boy harvests the grain.
He severs the seeds from their slender stalks with a chipped rock.
It was her idea.
They’ve discovered the stone age.
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Nothing means anything except by having qualities.
from “Pronouns & Roles”, by Fred Hatt
The world is woven by thrummed strings.
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