Blog Archive

Friday, April 8, 2011

Forsythia

My dears, find a day white as muslin,
and in that day, open your hand,
see on your palm golden stars,
toss them along the road
that stretches from your feet to the sky,

shake the sky like a sheet,
oh, the air is full of sparkle,
the laughter of your daughters,
the running of their feet.