It was cold as death in our flat above the bar, the streets a hunting ground for wolves.
In dreams we could swim among the white caps, chase each other passed the sea oats to the dunes.
You with your gun on the night stand never seeing the palms fronds swaying in the wind.
We have vanished in lines on paper. Take my hand I will lift you up.
Dark skies rain down
over fading flowers
day after day
seeped in sorrow
broken winged sparrows
taken by the wind
never to sing again