Poezja

You own your breath,
talking to dust adrift.
Earth was dark and cool.
Heaven was hot bright.

Velvety black
night falls on the flowers
coming to see moon, like
in passive surrender.

A cloud sits on the
eyes. You were in haste.
There is no beginning, no end.
Salt water was panacea.

Death never comes
alone to carry the old
bags. Names were grafted in
the brown leaves.