as the howling poets gather on the mount,
to court the darkness,
in the company of the moon
I press my cheek to yours
to forget what is distant,
to show me what is real
which is only the night,
and possibly the stars
but in a patch of silence,
the whisper of a tree
escapes its seedling shell
and rises with the sun
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC
as the howling poets gather on the mount,
to court the darkness,
in the company of the moon
I press my cheek to yours
to forget what is distant,
to show me what is real
which is only the night,
and possibly the stars
but in a patch of silence,
the whisper of a tree
escapes its seedling shell
and rises with the sun
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