i.
the sun slips down
casts wine-red shadows
on a cool tin roof
near the clouds
in the dank of the city
as dusk sings a song
and extends a hand
of golden strands
to wipe three tears
from the blush of your face

ii.
the world is a sea-song
a great blue oblivion
ebbing and flowing
and in the midnight
coming and going
an endless tumult
of water and air
the turbulent swell
where self is soil
and soul is self

iii.
you confess to me:
memory is water
it flows in tunnels
small separate channels
the dark endless passage
which no one can see
and warms in summer
and freezes in fall
trickling in gutters
from you to me