a sleep meadow shaped like a drift of stars the branches lift the moon and hang there like stars butterflies flutter by those moon-lifted branches
flattened by the silver meadow by the silver gravity
damp as trees cold as your father's hands
2002
by Lake e. Lou
Comments
1 comments by thalliumriver oh, but, how often do i find a poet that i like to read? i have read most of the library. yours remain the only forest at night.