April snow. / God is waiting in the garden. / Slow as a blush,
snow shifts and settles on God. / On God’s bouquet. / The trees are white nerve nets.
ยท
April snow. / God is waiting in the garden. / Slow as a blush,
snow shifts and settles on God. / On God’s bouquet. / The trees are white nerve nets.
“Nothing remains but to hope the end will come to extinguish the unrelenting pain of waiting for it.”
Pier Paolo Pasolini