contemporary poetry

it was the autumn of the year
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
i am a woman
we who stood
with joy and wonder
a bird sang
now while my lips are living
she was a beauty in the days
lived by the river-side
desolate and lone
for these white arms about my neck
i can not tell you now
when night drifts along the streets of the city