sandalwood poem #4
my anger is hidden
I speak in whispers
my spirit is ill
waiting for an angel
who will tell us
what will become of us
I say the wind beats me down
my soul does timid
a dead hydra
a withered flower
my brain recoils
you look at me
you consider
what I have done to you
then you order the new moon
exiled into shadow
© John Knoepfle 1978, 2004
