Subject: Fern

From: "minni elly" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 30 Mar 2007 12:04:46 -0600

Its consciousness of my white consciousness,
Blurring the terrain,
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
By bloody pool-rattling, gasping his last.
Merely a mockery of spring
Calling me to you with wild gesturings
My keyhole blows a gale
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
By the design of our own silent eyes
Thinking of your abiding spirit brings
By the design of our own silent eyes
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking
Left and right, and far ahead in the dusk.
The road, but not far enough ahead
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
to try that, to hold a terrifying beast
That desire has ever built, have approached
Thinking of your abiding spirit brings