Читать книгу & in Open, Marvel - Felicia Zamora - Страница 11

At Last Summer Let Go

The leaves in descent yellow

behind your back. Mystery

in the senses we ignore. Caught

just out of reach: the balloon,

string-less and wind swept forgets. We

open-palmed, stars paint galaxies

at the back of our pupils. Collection

until shutter. To undo the heavens

this brain harbors with guilt

cage and key in constant turn, a habitué

of adorning everything with wings.