mark molten gold
down staged
faces
Mellifluous reels
translate
lit cups on
this field
to every home
Each light,
a bullet-hole
in the Ptolemaic Heaven,
shines down
An open field
yawns light
into voids
where mute shades
of blue glimmer.
of blue glimmer.
1 comment:
Kal, Tu es a punto de llorar.
tan verdadero. ...en tono profundo.
otra vez. Sarai
Post a Comment