Landscape II Carlos A. Angeles Sun in the knifed horizon bleeds the sky Spilling a peacock stain upon the sands, Across some murdered rocks refused to die. It is your absence touches my sad hands Blinded like flags in the wreck of air. And catacombs of cloud enshroud the cool And calm involvement of the darkened plains, The stunted mourners here: and here, a full And universal tenderness which drains The sucked and golden breath of sky comes bare. Now, while the dark basins the void of space, Some sudden crickets, ambushing me near, Discover vowels of your whispered face And subtly cry. I touch your absence here Remembering the speeches of your hair.
Posted on: Sat, 08 Mar 2014 10:09:04 +0000
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