poetry poem

were it not for that singular smell
along the banks
do i like it
under dusky laurel leaf
when the wind works against us in the dark
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
there is a country full of wine
music i heard with you was more than music
a few more windy days
i see all human wits
night is dark, and the winter winds
give me hunger
a pen of steel