Leapfire
On the eve of the solstice, I stopped to watch a tumbler on the street, a mischievous, mercurial young fellow in starry shorts, with braids raying out like a black sun. This was his finale.
Being Nine, I thought of my crow lad, leaping scythes in Cloud.
Dream well at midsummer.
Nine
Being Nine, I thought of my crow lad, leaping scythes in Cloud.
Dream well at midsummer.
Nine
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