Your bare back
framed by the window...

All the roses in my garden
are slowly wilting before me...

The river flows,
flows like a tear...

Let’s fly out this door
Into the bright air...

Ripe apples falling
Upon auburn crunchy leaves...

Crowd from the city
Come together by the sea...

Sometimes I sit down to write
But my hands are firm...

Of smoke and sand
saltiness between cement...

Weary and beaten
Yet vastly firm...

Her dark crystal hair
Stands out on the limpid sea...