TO HEATHER
THE MOTHBALLS
(Spring)
This Spring is arriving like marbles on a glossy
slab. The low hand of the horizon rests, and upon
it sets a new Sun and Moon and the planets.
The stars commingle at dawn; watch them,
brother, to tell me what you see. Before I
speak, the birds of daybreak have already met.
THE MOTHBALLS
(Spring)
This Spring is arriving like marbles on a glossy
slab. The low hand of the horizon rests, and upon
it sets a new Sun and Moon and the planets.
The stars commingle at dawn; watch them,
brother, to tell me what you see. Before I
speak, the birds of daybreak have already met.
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