A night is born
full of false holes
dead sounds
like the corks
of nets trailed in the water.
Your hands bring a breath
of inviolable distances
as elusive as ideas.
And the ambiguous sway
of the moon, of the gentlest,
if you rest your eyes on me,
touches the spirit.
You’re the woman who passes by
like a leaf.
And bequeaths an autumn flame to the trees.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
A night is born
full of false holes
dead sounds
like the corks
of nets trailed in the water.
Your hands bring a breath
of inviolable distances
as elusive as ideas.
And the ambiguous sway
of the moon, of the gentlest,
if you rest your eyes on me,
touches the spirit.
You’re the woman who passes by
like a leaf.
And bequeaths an autumn flame to the trees.
