Ney, I am the break
That nets a setting sun.
Beak of swalllows
Into turpentine waters,
Behind the glare of
The watching fern,
A whisper in the winding
Shade turning in itself....
In the remains of the day
Watching the meeting
And the stare of eyes
Stealing the fleece of gold
From unborn skies.
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 9:02 PM UTC
Ney, I am the break
That nets a setting sun.
Beak of swalllows
Into turpentine waters,
Behind the glare of
The watching fern,
A whisper in the winding
Shade turning in itself....
In the remains of the day
Watching the meeting
And the stare of eyes
Stealing the fleece of gold
From unborn skies.
