The town far away

like a nightmare that

turns off dawn,

sweetest dusk was coming

at the bend in the path

of the mountain.


March rain

made whispering whirls

and wind

raised clouds of

snow at the



Twilight was coming

once again,

the only one,


to its dominions,

and there we were,

under the rain,

surreptitiously coming

in the temple of

what exists.


With its back to all

that shouting

the night was falling

quiet and calm.


Valley goldfinches

gently dyed

with their song

rain murmur,

fragile and bold

as life.


Lonely walking

we are coming

into the time





This entry was posted in poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s