family poetry

a flying word from here and there
in halls of sleep you wandered by
as a white candle
and my name is truthful
little gate was reached at last
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
see i give myself to you
with her hair flaying wildly
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
do the boys and girls still go
storm
the hypocritic days