My blooming loneliness
doesnít have a country to walk on.
My home, a cage,
filled with childhood fables.
my spirit runs to catch
a summer, music, joy, you.
We met summertime,
you didnít fit in a multitude.
Your loneliness matched with
my afflicted song.
My silence nursed your silence.
Many years Iíve questioned
how and whyÖ
How has Fall brought you
in the naked branch of my heart.
Why are there waves inside your eyes
that travel me.
If you get lost in the Winters,
if you donít wait for me in the Summers,
with what poems I would write
to fill my life with variety.
Stained by the sun I see you sitting
on the wooden chair, speechless,
avoiding my eyes,
as if my Summer is heavy on you,
as if my Spring causes you pain.
Your glance offered me a nail,
the poem died on my lips.
I havenít seen another Summer.
Your Winter stole my childhood fables.