TOO MUCH HAS RESISTED US
i have been thinking of the long arms of peasant girls,
of cold streams where the sun washes up on the sand.
of far-away places, things i might love,
of the town where i was born, its long streets
climbing the dusk hill, of the young girls in the
arms of boys, suspended in the thin light
of street lamps. i have thought of june wind outside
the town filling the cypress, running down tall vines
of the full stars, of my feet on the peebles of deserted roads.
i have thought of these things, & my heart is on fire
for them. a man goes to these places
& decides for himself which way the
sun shall fall on his eyes.
i have been thinking of the long arms of peasant girls,
of cold streams where the sun washes up on the sand.
of far-away places, things i might love,
of the town where i was born, its long streets
climbing the dusk hill, of the young girls in the
arms of boys, suspended in the thin light
of street lamps. i have thought of june wind outside
the town filling the cypress, running down tall vines
of the full stars, of my feet on the peebles of deserted roads.
i have thought of these things, & my heart is on fire
for them. a man goes to these places
& decides for himself which way the
sun shall fall on his eyes.