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Eclipse of the Moon

on wet stones
not knowing that I love you.
Eyes weep
at last year's hatred
hearing the leaves,
brook
and stone
this year, last year, weep,
not knowing that I love you.
Alone in your bright house
year after year
you sing and smile,
grit back the memories
of my words
with brook song
not knowing that I love you.
Alone we suffer
never together
each hearing
the brook's rush
its tears over fate
the stone's song —
not knowing that I love you.
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This brooding weather of warm mists, grey showers
I dedicate to reality. Anguished red leaves lie
strewn on the yellow grass empty of flowers:
the time has come for us to say goodbye.
Change has only marked my longing with your name.
It will not fly sough with the birds overhead.
I find old letters that say, We are the same,
in seeking something to put in your stead.
Touched with the cold hand of regret, I sit
and untangle my dream too late
to ever reach the heart of it.
And I cannot say, This is our fate.
Feeling is fate, but, with or without
you. My heart shudders and cries. Then,
what makes it possible for us to part?
We have not changed, though autumn fade again.
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