lunes, 18 de abril de 2016

march 1988

when a spirit comes to me
  and frightens
and the weight on my chest
  turns butterflies into desert lands
and rivers flow through
             arms to heart
shepherds and farmers sit to drink
my isolated soul, 
but not because I'm away
from you or may never see again
  the drunken night
      or shaking star's illusion
  that distance is not time
  and time not space
  but the spirit comes to me

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