2016. október 20., csütörtök

Penny Harter: Relativity

As you sleep, the moon
pours itself into your palms
as if they were holes to be filled,
as if the night blue veins
that run inside your wrists
were rivers to the dark interior galaxy
where your moon floats, waxing and waning
in the cage of your ribs, shining on the organs
gravity has hung around your heart.

Nincsenek megjegyzések:

Megjegyzés küldése