angular
behind black,
a suggestion of brick;
the spire moon
shadows the roots
under stars
slight warmth
of sandstone
and ticking birds,
small movements
between gravestones
and curled brass
a dark box
of stone waiting
for the edge of light
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful poem, Leslie. I live in a 160 year old church