2
-3
-4
-5
-6
-7
-8
-9
-10
-11
-12
On the WaterMeadows, clouds, water saySay they're bewitched by a yellow moon; Silver surface, silver distance Above me, before me.... To regret nothing, desire nothing.... If only the witch's mask glowed And her fable glided to silver Distance on silver surface.... |
Return --
Previous --
Next
Issue #4, October, 1998 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.