Every Day You Play With

There Is No Space Wider Than That Of Grief.

Your House Sounds Like A Train At Midday, The Wasps Buzz, The Saucepans Sing, The Waterfall Enumerates The Deeds Of The Dew . . .

Today Is Today, And Yesterday Is Gone. There Is No Doubt.

We Bear The Sole, Relentless Tenderness.

In You Is The Illusion Of Each Day. You Arrive Like The Dew To The Cupped Flowers. You Undermine The Horizon With Your Absence. Eternally In Flight Like The Wave.