floating indifferent in eddies of
rooftop air, circling the black
chimney-cowls,
a spring night entered
my mind through the tight-closed window,
wearing
a loose Russian shirt of
light silk.
light silk.
For this, then,
that slanting
line was left, that crack, the pane
never replaced.
that slanting
line was left, that crack, the pane
never replaced.
No comments:
Post a Comment