To Gina
When you have gone the echo
Of your presence is a phone
Ringing in an empty room

Dust settles on the window sill
And soft rain embraces
The lawn

The outdoor lamp wraps
Itself around a forgotten
Plastic chair

The stillness has no peace,
Restless I sit and wait
For your melody to come

A faint whiff of your perfume
Lingers, a vague promise you
Will return soon