they call dusk by something else. goodbye-time, i think.
now it is nearly goodbye time here though your sun is
reluctant to go, picking up on your dejection, your hush
(or was that also just my dream from way back in time)
crowns made me sad today, they belong to stranger-kings
that i will never know, who rule over trees where the sun never
sets through a bleak branch and where a thought waits a
while within an afternoon and stranger queens, hair sad and
minus their kings, go to bleed. thoughts, rulers, branches, blood.
of course, when birds cry with sweet voices that they want
to go, you let them go. just like that. when they don't return,
you are always happy. as if their flight was indeed you, going.
seasofme150117parallaxis
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parallaxis
Poetryparallax /ˈpærəˌlæks/ noun 1. an apparent change in the position of an object resulting from a change in position of the observer 2. an appar...
