poetry in motion

wrap the earth in cloudy weather
last midnight
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i shall see a star tonight
the air is like a butterfly
daughter, thou art come to die
backward, turn backward
brother, i am fire
in mournful numbers
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
when i looked into your eyes
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
there was never a sound beside the wood but one