Trees With Requited Shadows
Shadows, my shape like drunkenness,
trees walking into my mirror,
windows' strange flush as boughs break in;
do walls rise in whitewashed ember?
The dust of death I remember,
and that dust kills me back in bed.
I know you're coming down again,
falling without even a scream.
I see your face move in each wind —
The night's thousand shadows of trees.
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