Whispered in the Afternoon
Sun, autumnal thin and hesitant,
And the fruit falls from the trees.
Stillness dwells in blue rooms,
A long afternoon.
Dying-sounds of metal;
And a white animal breaks down.
The coarse songs of brown girls
Have blown away in the falling leaves.
The forehead dreams God's colors,
Feels the gentle wings of insanity.
Shadows whirl on the hill
Fringed blackly by rot.
Dusk full of rest and wine;
Sad guitars flow.
And as if in a dream
You turn to the calm lamp within.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt