Riviere Briton's The Long Sleep
As our bloods separate the clock resumes,
I hear the wind again as our hearts quieten.
We were a ring: the clock ticked round us
For that time and the wind was deflected.
The clock pecks everything to bone.
The wind enters through the broken eyes
Of houses and through their wide mouths
And scatters the ashes from the hearth.
Sleep. Do not let go my hand.
No comments:
Post a Comment