Five winds,
Count another
That drifts you
To a shredded paradise
Of photographs lingering on the path
To a corroding gentleness,
A peaceful session
Of beautiful weeping.
My love,
How great are these walls
Of stumbling colors,
Falling through the blankest clouds
Lingering overhead?
Your face
In the sky, I see,
By my open eyes
And swipe a tear
Away from the state.
Weep from the simmering storm,
The blue veil shadows you
In the evening’s sight,
Leaves a wound wide open
That speaks of the cruelest fright
You ever overcame.
My love of iron,
Of trains sent on, rushing
To the eventide,
Is a path that sweeps the Autumn
Into the faintest winter stroke
Upon where a cheek grows a kiss.
Modern Romanticism 