who shall then dare
dream the Sun to be a flower
or a new, keen city higher than steeples and umbilicus of wires
disavowed streets and herds of proletariats?
and if so then it shall be a flower
who picks itself from the unmoving Earth then what steady light
will it bring? who will join it in its revelry and who shall be
brave with trembling hands to hold it in hand taut like loves
divined and forever is spring and forever is winter endless with ephemeral whiteness
and bells are a-ringing and clouds are twitching so as to sail where
nobody has ever visited
always it is Spring
and in my hand is the Sun or the florid aureole
burning in my palm and the moon is my love
whose night is carefully a fraction
of flower placing an inch of sleep in my body,
always it is lovely
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
who shall then dare
dream the Sun to be a flower
or a new, keen city higher than steeples and umbilicus of wires
disavowed streets and herds of proletariats?
and if so then it shall be a flower
who picks itself from the unmoving Earth then what steady light
will it bring? who will join it in its revelry and who shall be
brave with trembling hands to hold it in hand taut like loves
divined and forever is spring and forever is winter endless with ephemeral whiteness
and bells are a-ringing and clouds are twitching so as to sail where
nobody has ever visited
always it is Spring
and in my hand is the Sun or the florid aureole
burning in my palm and the moon is my love
whose night is carefully a fraction
of flower placing an inch of sleep in my body,
always it is lovely
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