James Vincent McMorrow
Outside, Digging
There is so little light from the warmth of the sun
There is so little light from the warmth of the sun
There is so little light from the warmth of the sun
Till we existed
Where nothing stood
Bitter how we almost missed
Staggered that it did not flood
When I look back in season
From under root
Cornering for different reasons
Burdened with the lesser fruit
And soft
And soft and shirtless sleeves
Unsteady as it seems
There is so little light from the warmth of the sun
There is so little light from the warmth of the sun
There is so little light from the warmth of the sun
I wish I had understood my marks
Was not worried about single parts
I cut like a fragment of a single heart
I cut like a fragment of a single heart
There is so little light from the warmth of the sun
There is so little light from the warmth of the sun
There is so little light from the warmth of the sun
There is so