You gave your hand to me,
fingernails imperfectly cut.

Unfinished conversations on cloudy verandas,
dreary mysteries in grey haze.

A vase of violets drooping in the moist mid-morning,
the teapot shaking in your hands,
knife rattling the jar of marmalade, scraping toast;
discordant chorus completed by the clamor of the street beyond the lawn.


Sidewalks and wet leaves just outside the garden gate;
cold rainy evenings, no shops open and again
you gave your hand to me.

Fingernails cracked and long.

Dim cafés, spilt coffee,
chipped cups, unbalanced chairs wobbling
with our words.

Greasy candles bleeding onto
moth-eaten tablecloths.

Re-reading old newspapers,
glancing through the faded past;
yellowed, brittle pages tearing,
torn, dissolved.

Dusty windows and farther still,
setting sun gives way,
end of day.