une was tender

You can still see her

Swinging in the moon-scythe

Like spirits or ghosts

That nobody sees

That nobody believes in

June was tender

You can still see her



If the red-skin had been of flesh

He wouldn't have spent so many years

Listening to june in the waves

If the red-skin had been of flesh

He wouldn't have spent so many years

Listening to the voice that there wasn't



June would like to be

Under the earth

Like a beautiful stone-hand

White open

With the streched palm

On wich falling asleep

Or at least

Intimately thinking