Whenever we meet here
in the land of the dead
or in flights of dreams
why is it always raining
or snowing like crocuses?
And why are you always
wearing that bloody shirt
which relaxes into
the background like fog
before my very blue?
One stream walks down
through difficult mountains
the other goes out and up
part of the hidden fire
in the darkness around us.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment