Friday, September 4, 2009

By Cycles Fall


Neaped by a circadian moon,
I'd reached for you in spring tide love,
you who under sighed lonely loon
and rose on drafts yon turtle dove.

So, my wide and dark Canadian sky,
I who lack June's lunar stare,
shall wither here upon this vine.

With care or not, my love must die
and weap shall none for myrtle I.

My petaled fall,
my life untwined.

mindbringer, 3 September 2009

September 3, 2009
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