Jesse Marasco

The ghosts in the windows,
watching the birds flying by.

You in the garden,  
watering the flowers will the tears in your eyes.

These pictures hang in my mind.
They hang in my mind,  
until the end of time.

The old poets of the fallen ages,
reciting the universe to a crowd of stones.

You in the meadow,
waltzing through the moonlight,  
where they buried their bones..

These pictures hang in my mind.
They hang in my mind,
until the end of time.