around here the day often was and the night often is

and you had been inside but are outside now

with a wind-up torch and a sheer satin gown which makes you look

fabulous in the moonlight. you are

pruning the blood red roses which are the only thing

i can remember that were and are,

the petals falling to the floor without sound.

the depths of my mind were not but now are and

it is like listening to a song that never was.