Hedy Habra: The Taste of the Earth
Two fawns cross the creek. One of them pauses, linked
to his mirror reflection by the tip of his tongue, parallel
worlds merge on the fault line of a folded image.
December 11, 2019 · Leave a comment
Hedy Habra: Topography
Sometimes I think my face is a map,
each line a faint record of hidden scars,
of what I’ve seen or felt.
September 16, 2019 · 1 Comment
