The quietness of my sublime
Merges with faces, talking in
Arrays of genial reflections
Bouncing, leaf dragging down
The soul of my early morning,
And I bind my mouth
Eager embrace of silent words mutter
To me, quiet-quiet,
Warming in the sun, a shadow
Of formless black
Drying to make sound
A time for me to lie,
tossing you there and here
Let the wind cry.
