Friday, 1. July 2005
There
There you pressed a little harder.
There an image was shaped.
There you wrote rain.
There you folded the paper.
There is the envelope in a red postbox.
There she is reading of rain.
There it really is raining.
There is the notebook with the torn sheet.
There the word rain seeped through.
There you face another empty page.
There memory teethed.
My Poems
... comment