here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap
and to your(in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain
and here's to silent certainly mountains;and to
a disappearing poet of always,snow
and to morning;and to morning's beautiful friend
twilight(and a first dream called ocean)...
Saturday, September 01, 2007
...excerpt from a poem by ee cummings
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment