old-fashioned letters carved with perception
ink-stained parchment of songbirds and a daydream
i see poems floating from the graveyard
sitting carefully on the mountainside
they barefoot whistle past the sugarcane early
with the sun every morning and i wonder how.
whimsical memories waiting to happen, some
never to hear the song

remember how the sunshine feels in winter.
remember how the flower feels in rain, they
whisper
sometimes i pretend you're sitting next to me
and i realize another summertime memory, so easily
slips out and joins those
never to hear the song
down the mountain path, past the graveyard, and far across the sea