IN THE MISTY VALLEY
the painful resonances are returning from the dale,
it's not illusion, not even a dream, a silence
of cemeteries, night is slipping away
like an iceberg, the feeling's
liquidity, not knowing
where it wants
to take
the body, soul, uneasy conscience, the sinking
emerging life; a condensate storm in
the innermost, or you're
standing in the
distant or
a phantasmagoria, steeped in pain, sigh, longing
for the salvation of the soul; losing town,
house, broken windows, shattered
glass pieces, free bond of
affection neither
close and
not someone farther; deep isolation, on the body
surface the nameless flowers to be bloom,
not mortification, not alienation,
nor fondness, an
homogeneous
heart,
freedom from arrogance,the destruction of
haughtiness , self-deliverance, no
light, no darkness, a
lasting peace,
earth and
sky, where consistent, prolong dense fog - - - - - -
