For the cadence, an oarsmen’s sky,
I see
waves of wind, a crystalline plain
floats
in the blue, it passes out of sight,
the air
becomes word and windmills
turn
endlessly, pleasure-tuned to my memory.
For the cadence, an oarsmen’s sky,
I see
waves of wind, a crystalline plain
floats
in the blue, it passes out of sight,
the air
becomes word and windmills
turn
endlessly, pleasure-tuned to my memory.