sun and rain that hiss equally as they stoop
their equivalent rainbows on the grit, washing
into the heather scoops, and thereafter
through the smoke of this he walks away
—rain and sunlight that carve new
ruts to the past in his face
breathe in, and think
of how the mind-camera will pan and pan back
then be still as a moonlight hare
in the scent of yourself
.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment