autumn poetry

before the solemn bronze saint
we break the glass whose sacred wine
where shall i find you
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
will you glimmer on the sea?
we were not many
from floor to ceiling
listen to the sounding sea
the mountains they are silent folk
there are gains for all our losses
within my hand i hold
moonlight deep and tender
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
when i was broke in london