display | more...

In the windows of the houses,
warm shadows move about —
a calm and easy movement;
ink-birds resting in the wings.

Policemen on the corner
exchange stories no one knows.
A distorted stoic voice
speaks urgent nonsense to itself.

Wind rushes, free and easy
through a newly silent copse.
When the body is in motion,
the mind cannot keep up.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.