birthplace,
birthplace 75 The hourless stone I throw after the needless velocity of youth. The soundman’s daughter who mustn’t know she’s been resurrected. The river I don’t know in the ear that I do. Grief the god of spotlights. The movie we made using the three collarless dogs we could find and the bush that wouldn’t catch fire. God the grieving stoplight. The last past.
kingsoftrain 
Your prose is a unique blend of abstract imagery and contemplative musings, evoking a sense of mystery and introspection. It invites readers to ponder the complexities of existence and the interplay between time and emotion. 🌟📜