05 March 2008


532
In her here there's the blue bell
Warm as tears.
In her there there's the gold
As a faint dry tang
Of a strand of, not caught by, but become
A filament of sun.
Yet the moon's-eye blue
Is ours, soft as sleep finger's forgotten
Intertwinement.

4 comments:

zhoen said...

Pixilation.

mark said...

yah--like the photographer...

Dick said...

The grainy texture and the fragmentation of the houses by the bars - or what appear to be bars - gives this remarkable picture a dreamlike atmosphere.

mark said...

thanks, dick...venetian blinds...quiet early morning, tho i can't remember where..virginia?