107 The aspens, adrift in darkness, quake

107                       

The aspens, adrift in darkness,quake

in the bottomless lane.  I listen all night

to the lisp of leaves.  In a black lake

the streetlamp floats her sallow light.

 

Who is it that in this alien wind

slowly descends?  My senses are dimmed.

Near, so near, the moonwoman bides,

the opiate eyes, the fingers like tides.