I stifle a yawn,
The mortal rummages through the chest—
Beige, brown, blank
I am placed on a wooden stand
I lounge in my inkpot,
I hear my master’s footsteps,
Poised, elegant, immaculate!
Feather-light touch on rugged land.
5th September 1701
Dearest,
The room is dark but … Continue Reading