Blue autumn
when the big wind comes
like a soprano
in the hour between dog and wolf
and a hundred million years of nectar dances:
bright dead things.
After west
we almost disappear.
when the big wind comes
like a soprano
in the hour between dog and wolf
and a hundred million years of nectar dances:
bright dead things.
After west
we almost disappear.
There’s a ghost in this machine of air
listening long and late
happy in an ordinary thing
given sugar, given salt.
Queen of a rainy country,
say this prayer into the past.
Listen to this poem:
