White Owl
- Thomas Quin

- Nov 12, 2024
- 1 min read
Updated: Jan 19, 2025
Black tea eyes,
Steep into me —
And flow through my words
Like capillaries on the page;
To unfold over the sky.
Buying time with a sip
As oceans yawn,
And lap at the foot of my bed.
The white owl opens its eyes,
Wide enough to see right through me.






