I am here connecting with the soil,
with the smallest suggestion
of a breeze,
before the day’s heat hits.

Across an ocean, we were
to have met again, had
you been there, my friend.

Now, we do our best
to be where are.

Across the bare wooden floor,
new leaves dance shadows
onto the dark green Roman blinds.

red is the color of violence

(and your hair)

you took from me many things

wrested from me

as if a thief