It is too late to apologize though the words would swell against her hills and dale. But I will not for I know sorry is just a word. Yet, she will forgive me when I return push past paladin plains ghost over geometric gates my feet damp across maiden grass and the short stride to her door. It will open. Her face will startle like a flock of birds doused in sunlight before wheeling back to the nest. LIDA EHTESHAMI
UNTITLED NIA HOLTON-RAPHAEL
43
