Timeless evening, the hour The hourglass lies On its side like a figure On a reliquary. A mule is pulling a cart Of heavy stones through alfalfa That springs up In the wheels’ wake, Proud and indignant, Like women knocked Down by soldiers. On the road a procession
Rural Burial
Rural Burial
Rural Burial
Timeless evening, the hour The hourglass lies On its side like a figure On a reliquary. A mule is pulling a cart Of heavy stones through alfalfa That springs up In the wheels’ wake, Proud and indignant, Like women knocked Down by soldiers. On the road a procession