The Wistful Mirror
Manuel Machado had always believed that stone was the only honest substance, a material that did not lie about its own weight, yet as he stood on the terraced steps of Alfama, watching the sea fret erase the coastline, he realized his body was becoming a lie. The cold was a physical fact, a damp that seeped into the marrow of his knees, which had begun to ache with a rhythmic, grinding...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews