by all her green fibers
the forest's rack of blossoming scenes
is in my fingerprint lines
her purple paint
exudes me.
Twined into the lattice of her ways
a bridge festooned with smoking daisies
strings that electrocute
and slits that sing
the harmony
where I can hear the moss growing
and watch the pyramid's faint stem
rise in a desert's tent.
No comments:
Post a Comment