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The glory of chance and the hazard of death met one another on a windy street -- two rain shadows, brothers with the papery, blue faces of old money -- their cloaks like palpitant wings, angels of riot under winter poplars. They saw, each to each, the dark-tongued and unthreaded pigments of philos -- knowing how indecorous it was, love, shining like that in the other's face -- while somewhere in the trees the crows went fighting over a starling's eye. Two kinsmen in rain -- rain to snow.
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Copyright © 1998 Stephen Kuusisto. |
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