Collected Poems of John Holmes
Holmes, John A., Jr.
Here willows are leaning laughter
Over hazy water,
When the warm wind
Runs his fingers through their hair.
Faintly I feel the sun-soaked fields
Breathing the waves of life
Across the lake, and effortless now
Comes the slow droning of locusts
Through the heavy silences of the grove of pines.
By the dropping of an eyelid I could go
Slip, slipping into nothingness of sleep.