My grandmother sits on the back step

I beside, and

my dear friend up there, at table.

There are birds in the sky

and the potted plants are nursing stitches.

I think I heard a cat jump

slink, fall,

escaping this domain of rust,

and smoke...

and the steam and the fire,

the roast, the white cloth and red

full hearts, having drunk their fill;

these wanderers flood a...

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Lunar light touches your cheek

soft curls paint a border-line,

seized in pastel, black, grey, white

the mirror creaks, leaves rustle

and beneath in store for us they keep

in a locked chest, waxed, sealed,

the list of names, none too grand.

War-torn, a leaf falling

red imprints on fog-mired turf,

the spiral here is waning,

stroking October oil's mist,

the tracks' ...

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