Open earth
Loving fingers
Cave-cold
Snow-silence
A flat rock for sunning
for resting, wings folded
Open earth
Loving fingers
Cave-cold
Snow-silence
A flat rock for sunning
for resting, wings folded
I am afraid that if I understood
the lovers on the walk the commuters
on the train those lovely sounds
washing over me would cease to be music
and become only what’s for dinner and
can you believe what she was wearing
and damn I forgot my umbrella again
The forest floor is carpeted
dimly autumn gold and black
This is fairytale land and alone
with the spiraling downfalling
broken limbs log bridge
across the creek I remember
one French-class sub
his inappropriate eyes
Avez vu le loup?