Thursday, August 18, 2011

evening west

we have wildflowers in our hair
and a spirit moves across the lake-
rebuilding skin;
hunters in July.

i have returned,
i have returned,
but not so fast, my hearth in daytime.

fires settling under our feet.

sky descends, and we turn new,
and maybe i have not sinned,
and maybe i have yet to become new!

a found magnificence
i yearn for a life of white

pleasures: renaissance art, cliffs, the human form? i am guilty. sleepers, or sleep.
from far away, one may be convinced we have wings.

"no, nothing. i gaze at the sea."

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