Soft the night smell
Among April trees
Soft and richly rare
Yet commonplace
Perfume on a cosmic scale.
Excerpt from Flowers of Darkness, Frank Marshall Davis (1905–1987)
Soft the night smell
Among April trees
Soft and richly rare
Yet commonplace
Perfume on a cosmic scale.
Excerpt from Flowers of Darkness, Frank Marshall Davis (1905–1987)
Under the moon
wind rising and falling
wind with many clouds
trees in the night wind.
But the trees have risen one more time
and the night wind makes them sound
like the sea that is yet unknown.
Tell me, dear beauty of the dusk,
When purple ribbons bind the hill,
Do dreams your secret wish fulfill,
Do prayers, like kernels from the husk
Come from your lips?
Night’s brittle song, sliver-thin
Shatters into a billion fragments
Of quiet shadows
At the blaring jazz
Of a morning sun.
Excerpt from Four Glimpses of Night, Frank Marshall Davis (1905–1987)