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SOFTLY IT COMES

Softly it comes
falling
on black umbrellas;
water falling into water
blurring the surface of the reservoir.

Coldly it comes
falling,
beading black on the crow’s wing,
black on the grave.

Lovely it comes
falling.
Worlds in quivering prisms
cling, and fall, from needles, like boats
crossing borders, at night.

SOFTLY IT COMES

Softly it comes
falling
on black umbrellas;
water falling into water
blurring the surface of the reservoir.

Coldly it comes
falling,
beading black on the crow’s wing,
black on the grave.

Lovely it comes
falling.
Worlds in quivering prisms
cling, and fall, from needles, like boats
crossing borders, at night.

Frederick Mulder  49, Seattle

 
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