OCEAN’S MARCH (Excerpt III)

The mirror designing dawn

and garden broke

Day before yesterday we buried the first swallow

with the sorrowful flutes of flowers

Then the children sat alone

before the evening window

staring at the dying sun

Behind the white wall of the yard

the road was waking up

and as the golden light was melting at a distance

the great shadow of mountains was rising

with the silent footstep of death

up to our white hands

to our hearts

up to our bowing foreheads

Mother  Who is chiming

the horizon’s azure bell?

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