08-01-2023, 05:39 PM
Maybe, night’s
quietude
is right for us.
The comma after Maybe is like a thought before.
Maybe . . . . and the rest is thoughts in process.
Moonlight washes
through the glass,
bathes the grass of
memory’s city
What is your self-criticism of this? There must be a motive.
Florentine. Lawns
of the dead
in satin bedspreads.
Those also, who are here and gone,
time's odds and ends.
There you live, friend,
across in a villa from the park.
also?
And afterwards,
And and afterwards?
when the moon weeps silently,
when?
my longing knows
no bounds for thee.
quietude
is right for us.
The comma after Maybe is like a thought before.
Maybe . . . . and the rest is thoughts in process.
Moonlight washes
through the glass,
bathes the grass of
memory’s city
What is your self-criticism of this? There must be a motive.
Florentine. Lawns
of the dead
in satin bedspreads.
Those also, who are here and gone,
time's odds and ends.
There you live, friend,
across in a villa from the park.
also?
And afterwards,
And and afterwards?
when the moon weeps silently,
when?
my longing knows
no bounds for thee.