poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

It's night

and a numbered beauty
lapses at the wind,

chortles with the
branches of a tree,

giggles,

plays shadow dance
with a dead kite,

cajoles affection
from falling leaves,

and knows four
other things.

One is the color
of your hair.

Added: 19 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 1 Dec 2008 11:30 PM | Viewed: 6250 times

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