A leaf howls and fades
on having rushed for the branch
and the charm of the night
is twisted in your neck
Then it rains slowly
and the T.V. says nothing
while a tear collapses across your face
Then it gets dark on the lawn
and the source leaks a gilded thread
up to the rosy destruction
The tangles of pink horses and the clouds of dogs
whirl in the window
scarcely in the radio we listen
that it has dawned
and then we feel the slow breeze
And the small perfume of the flower
floods the fulfilled air
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