Red Hair and Rain at the Cemetery

A slate cellar door
marks the path
to shade, pomegranate whispers.
Clouds fill trees.
Rain divides talk.
The sky collects on the 
roof of my hand,
and trickles from my fingers.
Waterford crystal,
she fears my trembling touch.
Envy and I watch the sky
fill her with passion.


Next
Contents
Home page