Fire
Clear smoke,
a fire in the far off
haze of summer,
burning somewhere.
What is
a lonely heart for
if not
for itself alone.
Do the questions
answer themselves,
all wonder
brought to a reckoning?
When you are done,
I am done,
then it seems that
one by one
we can leave it all,
to go on.
źródło: Read A Little Poetry
10.09.2026