vashti_bunyan raze here she is twenty-four and tender in all the places i have coarsened. with a voice like a soft hand on my shoulder she tells me of days shaped like diamonds and whispers fiction until it's weathered into something true. i watch her plant mustard and cress and wander by horse-drawn wagon from south london to skye. the boats in the bay count the waves that rock them to sleep. she shows me a pine so proud of her evergreen gown looking down. a bed of grass and a river that's a rainbow. she cradles bales of hay in her arms as if they were her own newborn babes. and i wonder if anyone else has ever sung their life so sweetly, so completely. 250409 what's it to you? who go blather from