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Bout de Souffle
Out of Breath
Crest of a Crown
310
I fall as the slow sea crests
Just as hulking, white snow-tree nests,
When chopping, are timber tops toppling:
Waves crash as a sea bough dropping

I climb as the cliff-end peaks
Whither summit the stiff, bent creeks
Whose frowning, ice-crystal crown crowning
Holds down my heavy head drowning

I sink as the pale, rough moon’s
Sloughing tides drain the stale lagoons,
When flowing, brute undertow towing,
Know elsewhere the white waves growing
1 Comments.



♠ ♦ ♣
» iTest on 2007-11-13 06:26:40

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