Our new existence
is drawn in separation...

The cold shivered autumn
and her falling leaves...

I saw her in my dreams.
I told myself...

I was dreaming for hours
walking in harvested fields of grey...

Upon what memories of the past
that haunts you still...

I stare out the hotel window
the cold wind against my face...

I lie here dreaming
Under the Coqui frog's moon...

The whirl wind comes up
through the ground covered with leaves...

(Continued from The Night Bird and the Apostate)
The dying sun has shunned the last of its light...

She exhales the cruel words of hurt,
that rise and fall like gentle...

Make me anybody else
Scratching on the roots of sadness and hate...

And there she goes,
Her and the painted night horse...