Rudolf Horne Poems

A poem is no more than the sum
Of its parts.
Words and letters, strokes that are dumb,
Different hearts.
...

It is overcast and blue,
The man in the cafe'
Has lost his shadow
And he can't see me
...

You are not gone, not from this world,
Not from a body that was yours some thirty years.

You are not here, not in this empty bedroom,
...

I paid for your friendship,
Paid you to listen to me.
You taught me how to play
And enjoyed it for free.
...