I can not be a silver angel - the burning bush
ni -
had passed so many resurrections -
and my heart just what. Only
procession with bells - hallelujah
much longer - and my holiness
riddled
the Italian quarter of the swings. (...)
I know when I hold her tears as
golden stone from a slingshot -
understand me a little Lamb
the quietest Easter.
mouth puts on his hand - the lining topple
conscience - my heart will save
red flag.
line fragments Fr. Twardowski
0 comments:
Post a Comment