Alan Pearson Poetry

Dim evening of flowing jasmine
where unseen nightbirds gently flutter
when the mountain village floats in sleep
you keep your fervent tryst.

Your memory is a single chord
the wind sings on orchard boughs.
You stand in your flowing dress
your breasts ablaze with youth.
Your breath mingles with floating fragrance
and the moon is an endless wave
straining from fronds of cloud.

And all the while inside your mind
moon-tinged images of dreams
trail the hem of thought.

Soon you will return to your room.
And, like a stream that passes
through landscapes unseen,
where only birds glide and flowers glow
you will rest...

Then, later, saunter forth to greet
the happy children of your hopes.


	Evening




	Dim evening of flowing jasmine where unseen nightbirds gently flutter when the mountain village floats in sleep you keep your fervent tryst. Your memory is a single chord the wind sings on orchard boughs. You stand in your flowing dress your breasts ablaze with youth. Your breath mingles with floating fragrance and the moon is an endless wave straining from fronds of cloud. And all the while inside your mind moon-tinged images of dreams trail the hem of thought. Soon you will return to your room. And, like a stream that passes through landscapes unseen, where only birds glide and flowers glow you will rest... Then, later, saunter forth to greet the happy children of your hopes.