the Blues

the night breeze squeezes the shadows of the trees
his silhouette rambling over the hills
though decaying, he's actually striving
to stand over the rocks rising
and the million of wills

whispering leaves
in the bleak arms of night
was his piece of heart
longing for the moon,
the dusk,
and the frozen of light


totodigio
Sept. 13, 1978