Poetry 365

Inspired by Billy Collins' Poetry 180 project, I post one poem per day here, for at least a year. | tags by author or subject | contact me here

Saturday, Aug 29th, 2009

Leaves scarcely breathing
in the black breeze;
the flickering swallow
draws circles in the dusk.

In my loving
dying heart
a twilight is coming,
a last ray, gently reproaching.

And over the evening forest
the bronze moon climbs to its place.
Why has the music stopped?
Why is there such silence?