Issue Ten: Burn

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Issue Ten: Burn

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“Our plumage warm and dense with down, our coats as thick as thieves, we scour the land a final round before the spell of winter eves. The time for gatherers come and gone, we hunt now in their stead for kindred souls who linger on like moonshine and daily bread . . . Who’ll brave with us the haunted wood, torch in hand, and refuse the tacit urn, taciturn? In the light of fire shadow-bandits disband, for it’s in life, not death, in dark, not day, in sundry, not sole that we brightest burn.”