Jonas Mekas
Villages and Plains the Streams Flow Through
You too return, along with days gone, And flow again, my blue rivers, To carry on the songs of washerwomen, Fishermen’s nets and grey wooden bridges. Clear blue nights, smelling warm, Streams of thin
Market days
Mondays, way before dawn, Before even the first hint of blue in the windows, We’d hear it start, off the road past our place, Over on the highway nearby, In a clatter of market-bound
From "THE TALK OF FLOWERS"
I do not know, whether the sun Accomplished it, The rain or wind – But I was missing so The whiteness and the snow. I listened to the rustling Of spring rain, Washing the