prose poetry

while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
let me be sad
when i was a boy at college
under the harvest moon
when night drifts along the streets of the city
softly now the light of day
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
the air is full of dawn and spring
i saw god. do you doubt it?
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
the arches of the red bridge