six string serenade
she smiled
she played
as her fingers bled

cool blue in shadow
a memory flees
caught sipping China tea
all the way from Spain

if I call
on a phone
hung on a wall
can I call
in all my memories
of tomorrow
. . . collect

(follow anybody , every grain of sand has destiny . . . and a duty . . . every single separate , meaningless , grain . . . of futility)