Share this story
Close X
Switch to Desktop Site

The White Goose

And no one said in the spun tale of star, candle-eyed creatures, citizenry simple in homespun, searching monarchs stilling questions with nothing a child needs, that I swept over the stable, cruciform of my stretched self shadowy over thatch sprouting already, from that dark weave, green, the living song of a sparrow believing beyond winter.