she was velvet in a field of velvet
sage blue before the sunrise

she was satin in a sea of skin
sage green when the sun hangs high

there is thunder in the distance
heavy with salt, taste like your lips

it faintly rumbles remembrance  
sorrowful rolling sound

plums of Java crash onto our roof
knocking, then rolling to arrêt

was their taste so sour?
can you remember such bitter things?

did their sound disturb your sleep?
honey, dear, forgive the fruit without wings

do you remember how full our garden was?
how tall our dill did grow?

the palms we wrapped with christmas lights
to share our tropical glow?

is my name no longer spoken?
are there letters you refuse to read?

be sage before the sunrise
become sage blue again

i hear the thunder calling
it brings back tears instead.