Awakened.
Mating call. Waiting
for the ring around a neck,
for the neck to be wrung.
A strangulation. A kiss, –
one love that left in the bliss.
From the nest,
newborn, in the birth
of all the earth’s water.
Forests. Deep roots,
blind eyes that never believed
in the tears we both grieved.
What was I
in the songs of misery?
Where was I
in the dark scenery?
A long life,
not in the Autumn
brush of leaves against eyelids,
for most is already covered,
most breath – cold
is already smothered.
A long life for you
to freedom. In the blue.
Set petals over her space.
She was here.
She set out, in grace.
Modern Romanticism 