The Poet
One day, my soul lifted and traveled to the night,
like tides change, pulled
by the moon
From a long way off, love seemed elusive,
like a fast train speeding nowhere,
with no end in sight
The drone of my long death,
burning bridges before I could cross
In the distance, yellow poppies filled a field I could rest in,
my poems
falling like a warm summer rain,
quenching
my
thirst
|