The old landmarks
turned hazel and brittle,
in air, pollen and grasshoppers
the color of corn.
My fire dies tonight
and emmbers rise
touching eastern crowns,
as ragged men sleep on ground.
we speak in whispers-
as moonlight flows,
the shifting darkness
a web and crow.
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC
The old landmarks
turned hazel and brittle,
in air, pollen and grasshoppers
the color of corn.
My fire dies tonight
and emmbers rise
touching eastern crowns,
as ragged men sleep on ground.
we speak in whispers-
as moonlight flows,
the shifting darkness
a web and crow.
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