Thursday, August 27, 2009

513. MISTRAL

MISTRAL
Yes, yes I have often touched the sky:
when the cool winds were blowing,
when the geese were in flight. When
the dark sky was falling and the distant
breezes rolled. Something there is
of the night in the day, and each lunar
phase, like a heart wanes and waxes.
We grow as bright, in the same way,
as that light which we reflect.

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