I need you to know,
when the sun's eye brazens the treetops
at the right angle,
or when the too-white moon gapes in mourning
at all beneath her that decays,
Everything--your pity, my dreams--
rushes back from the depths of me
into the air.
the too-white moon
atand all beneath it that decays,
I need you to know,
when the sun's eye brazens the treetops
at the right angle,
or when the too-white moon gapes
at all beneath it that decays,
Everything--your light, my dreams--
rushes back from the depths of me
into the air.