The Longing And The Longing Of Longing... Poem by RIC BASTASA

Sunday morning
here, sunshine soft
on my shoulders,
green blinds filter
thoughts sink wanting
to be fathomed.

Sunday morning here,
lonely as the last leaf
of the fig tree that
never brought fruit
to the Planter.

Sunday morning here,
the white painted iron
garden chair
gleams under the
soft fingers of the sun.

Sunday morning here,
waiting for the rain
to hide some tears,
appearing as pearls
to the sun's compassion.

Sunday morning here,
when love left him,
gathering some memories
for one who looks alike
when it was gone.