reached across my back
pulled me up close to the sun
only to drop me, slowly, into the dusk
craving more and more night
i swing my head back and rest upon the rock
in a new fallen snow
nothing seemed better than this
nothing reminds me of true love
more than this
but then what is true love?
undefined, often enough, it is
a rhythm
a monotone voice in church
or bells in a steeple
it is a nurse at your bedside
whatever it is that is love
is not lost on me
but rather is lost in my own light,
in me to be found or not
that is the end of the day
and the beginning of night
No comments:
Post a Comment