Ornaments of olive eyes
Wading sleepy through starry skies
A silver window of heavens light
Sing me to sleep this winter night
Azalea, lay your flowers in the snow
As I lay, the wind shivers aching bones
Waiting calm for lower tides
I etched a poem in the stone
Rusty sheets, broken boards
Broken folds we call our homes
Azalea, the prettiest face
As I wait, for the dead to come back home