Joanna Newsom

• Joanna Newsom

…

There is a rusty light on the pines tonight;
sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow, down into the
bones of the birches, and the spires of the churches, jutting out from the shadows;
the yoke, and the axe, and the old smokestacks, and the bale, and the barrow —
and everything sloped, like it was dragged from a rope, in the mouth of the south below.

…