the sky's flowers are the
february stars that brood
like a crashing sea.

moon against moon,
the indigos of the night
wind and unwind.

who listens when the
bright beams tremble?

who listens to the grey night's
powerful song?

the sky's flowers are the
slow river of clouds that
flow away from me,

little paper islands
puffed out like chinese lanterns.

only the stars and the
clouds and the moon,

the boughs beneath, withered
and gaunt, start to dream...