Two days of stark
on a wide, wide sea.
Into bleak horizons
the ship sailed free.
...
Where are you?
You, who are a halo
around my senses,
a wreath of summer flowers
...
Foxglove,
with your speckled throat,
do you sing clear, silent notes
to winging busy, busy bees
...
I am losing words
day by day.
Soon, I shall be
speechless.
...
She would love a man
for his money,
she would love a man
for his car,
...
The image of my picture's face
is young.
The crows feet in my mirror
are not my mirrors inperfections...
...
It walks by your hanging head,
transparent shame,
unholy bed.
There in your mind
...