child poem

when the hours of day are numbered
gone before us
where shall i find you
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
and my name is truthful
thoughts through my head
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
to the passionate lover
which i wish to remark
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
simply speaking