Soapstone / Benjamin Rozonoyer
Heretofore, relinquishing quintessential habits, I scaled mountains, I talked to rabbits, lived among rabbits. Heaven espied the earth— its glimpse is the sky of unprecedented size, which is why babies cry at birth. The sides of the rock are slippery, you have to knock: a knocker of yew or hickory will let you in. The wind—perpetual Rabbit-jostle, a monotony making one's head to oscillate and fossil solidify fossil for as far as prairie and sky conflate
Soapstone: Copyright 2021 by Benjamin Rozonoyer. All rights reserved.