By the false azure in the windowpane
I am the smudge of ashen fluff
And I lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky"
I am ashamed that I will never command my native language as well as a man for whom it was a second. I don't even know if whom is right there.
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff—and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
I think I did alright for recalling it from several years ago. I will in fact, retract my agreement and classify your criticism as overly harsh.
I liked "The svelte stilettos of a frozen stillicide" and
"How to locate in blackness, with a gasp,
Terra the Fair, an orbicle of jasp."