The
moon rose like silver in the sky,
The
Plough swung slowly with the slowness of time,The garden burned with St. Elmo’s fire
And the apple trees rustled in the night wind.
He is like the fruit. He is like the moon.
The moon sank before dawn.
In that chill annihilationMy mind crumbled to pieces,
Almost would not bother,
Returned to the friable, dew-damp soil.
The
sun rose like a lion in the sky,
And
all day long considered the world.The garden pool glimmered with gold,
Its imperious glitter tore the flesh from my heart.
He is like the light. He is like the sun.
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© October 1979