Thursday, May 04, 2006

Spiritus I

Children settle
to the cadence
of Mother's breath.

Fanfare Sun of
noontide May---

The Gold of
your pitiless rays
hammer squints
on boys' faces.

Long ago
in grasses
pliant to breeze

We ran
past fanfare.

Mother's call

in pure cadence.

1 comment:

blu said...

Get a life doofus.