poetry form

i shake my hair in the wind of morning
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
up from the south at break of day
under dusky laurel leaf
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
softly weeping
have you seen walking through the village
daughters of time
under the harvest moon
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true