Summer is orange
Winter is blue,
Furthermore, this evening
I am meandering
Without you—
The silver glimmer
of minnows
In the sea
Above
Is inside me now.
Cold
Green apples
Exposed
White tissue
On counters
In metal dishes,
What's more, the Moon
Rises clear
What's more, cold.
On an abandoned sea shore
A demiurge
Structures
What's more, flings
Snowball stars
Out of sight
Into the universe.
What's more, presently alone
On our road
With the shops
Dim and shut
I moan
Transfixed
By a memory
Never old…
The touch
Of your warm hand
At the point when evenings are cold.
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