The pines in their shadows are distinguishing themselves Detached in a softly shaking emptiness Separate from themselves and their riveting greens, 5 Voraciously vivid, beyond coughed words, Beyond a last leaf stretched in a last silence Like Hamlet at the vacant end of the meadow, 10 Dying in summer, breathing a last breath In the final rye and grasses, seeing the trees loud sway At the rim of the yellow field, shaken Softly, softly, following a blue track through the pines.
From the collection "Constellations in December"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.