The heart beats,
the yellow flowers grow,
the growing burden on the sky
wages dark on the blueness there,
the wandering bleats
of trumpets slow
in distant fields lie
calm in a silence there,
and the crow entreats
the dusky haze of twilight, low
on the horizon, to die
now like the light upon your hair,
black as the vault of sky,
naked as the sky laid bare.
--Brooklyn, 2008
Posted by daleth at August 31, 2008 06:55 PM