Friday, August 7, 2015

PIERCING

White snow falling 
softly on an August afternoon—

and still—everywhere men 
and women walk 

and do not seem 
to see it. Some day—I knew,

that I must die—but I think 
that now 

I must—
finally mean it;

For how 
is this possible!—why?

won't they notice—
how absolute-

ly 
starving—the beautiful,

lapis-
blue sky looks?

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