Saturday, August 13, 2005
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I, the taster of late autumns,
hardly remembering the tobacco flower
spying the shivering hoary lake –
can sometimes hear my heartbeat.
...
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K Q
13 August 2005
when silence is a swan that has turned away from dying and the moon is drying up her wings like a newborn butterfly... I love your taste of autumn!
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1/14/2026 6:35:50 PM # 1.0.0
Beautiful words, Dan. 'At daybreak – only the lamp of the old man polishing lenses and the poet's narrow window are still tempting the fireflies; while the rose leans forward, between verbs, against our engraved arms; ' - This is exquisite writing.