Apr 25, 2011
If my hands could defoliate
I pronounce your name on dark nights
when the stars come to drink on the moon
and sleep in the tufts of hidden fronds
And I feel my self hollow of passion and music
Crazy clock that sings dead ancient hours
I pronounce your name in this dark night
and your name sounds more distant than ever
more distant than all stars
and more doleful than a calm rain
Will I love you like then ever again?
what blame has my heart?
When the mist dissipates
what other passion may I expect? Will it be calm and pure?
If only my fingers could defoliate the moon!