poetry

somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
grieve not for the invisible
you are clear
will you glimmer on the sea?
it was the autumn of the year
white foam flower, red flame flower
a few more windy days
when i was a boy at college
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
who is the runner in the skies
backward, turn backward
now while my lips are living
with the sunset
i sometimes wonder if it's really true