on this earth
clouds are winter
lay on round lakes
wet meadows
eyes
the day moon hangs itself
dangles above me
before her
and after
in deep canyons
more white cliffs become red rims
white cliffs
without knowing
ancient shadows draw close
restless
they are a new lake of clouds
the remains of me
a moon away
JP
9.10.09
No comments:
Post a Comment