Park

Muddy steps of raven's heads
Fasting of mould bread
crawling, like wood worms of storm
Hunted by passes of moon golden rocks.
Not here yet, but dear so.
I hide myself, and my hollow wealth of tarragon flavor.
Where new-born flowers hatching, in the womb of my eye's
mother's grass warm sun.

Like arms holding life,
webs of branches' tree,
Hide spiders' leafs, caught in the opening light
dazzles fading flies.

poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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