A dry flower falls
from pages yellowed with age...

Upon the crest of
the moon she lay...

Insomnia prevails
solitude, familiar as my faded housecoat...

...until
the crack found its home...

the bed is empty
no jasmine nor lavender...

Every day the pulley
would come up or down...

It's dark as I lie here...
The rest of the house still nestled in sleep...

Perhaps I have become
immune to inclement...

I was a crack in the mirror
or was I a mirror with a crack...

Morning newspaper
the world's depression in print...

They stand in rows,
yellow and stained...

In yonder meadow flowers bloom
cascading hues and sweet perfume...