The razorblade of wind has cut the lisping night
And sent the sun up
In the east
The mountains idle glowing
In morning's sundust storm
I see the restless leaves reflecting seas of light
As tiny trembling mirrors
But in my mind will rest
The pitch- black sea with roads of boatlights
And pale Old Man as from a Tarot card
His wizard smile
In still and tender dark
In rustles of shadows
The Moon
       The eye of daytime action
                     the
                          tor
                              n­a
                                  do

04/2003