The ice moves over the lake
And the sound is like the loon in warmer climes
Haunting echos that pierce the frigid air
The burdens that I carried will be left behind
How is it that the day proceeds from here?
The warmth of midday that will wash over me
Starts from this place
From in this sky, so low
This little pome mumbled
To me in our sleep, the
Little things the morning
Leaves: flowers
Of the strangest kind a
Cloudy sky will find beneath,
Above my head as I walk
Upon whatever the night
Rain swept through the
Streets. Reminds me with
My eyes half opened busted
Seams, spilling still such
Pillowy things, of the
Prayer I washed down
The bathroom sink, oh,
And the eyelash I think you
Dropped in my dreams.
Just beautiful
To me in our sleep, the
Little things the morning
Leaves: flowers
Of the strangest kind a
Cloudy sky will find beneath,
Above my head as I walk
Upon whatever the night
Rain swept through the
Streets. Reminds me with
My eyes half opened busted
Seams, spilling still such
Pillowy things, of the
Prayer I washed down
The bathroom sink, oh,
And the eyelash I think you
Dropped in my dreams.