The words hung
voiceless and pale in
fresh morning air.
A crow's call through
the opened window.
My note already lay
unfinished and raw
and she
was there
behind the words.
It was a long time
before I let them in.
23.1.12
When we spoke last it
was as a dream
in which one converses
long and cheerful
with someone who has died.
Shadowed faces
smile and laugh exchanging
pleasantries as if nothing
has changed
yet we know it is
an illusion brought up
from memories
and wishful thinking.
Why should it be so?
We are not dead.
16.1.12
Fecund blue travels
westward drawing darkness.
Lonely chill of the soul
reaches me unwanted.
12.12.11
The fragrance of garlic
oregano and basil
your fleeting words
to my hungry soul.
Pleasant and welcome.
Leave me hungry still.
11.12.11
My colors will be dark
as the place in my heart
where you dwell
but may no longer shine.