Monday, March 20, 2017

Dorin Popa writes



The treacherous hour in which all mix up
 
’tis as if
nothing hits on anything
things pass, alas! one through another
without effort, without pain
and the scented fate
enchants them, passes them


my comfort
has long stopped
to come around
my confidence has withered
and the distance
has drawn dizzyingly close


now, late, I remember
a song for which
I’ve prepared so much
a song which
I’ll never get
to sing
even



Image result for scented fate paintings

The Scented Mourner -- Stephen Mackey

No comments:

Post a Comment

Join the conversation! What is your reaction to the post?