Sunning Poem by Rebecca Stansfield
Sunning
Keen as where the arrows,
pointing somewhere new,
the water of the settling ones,
drinking from the dew.
The past that I'm remembering has begun,
of the drowning sun,
and where the skies are opening,
are bright beams of some.
A cloud is opening open,
and heaven is over-flowing,
I can see a certain strain,
of emptiness glowing.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
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4/25/2024 9:42:40 PM # 1.0.0.1119
