These fingers point at letters

Those letters point at words

And then the disturbance -

Occurs

My love she was a vixen

And howled in the night

Those feelings they just left me -

Despite

The mourning which continues

Throughout decades, in a line,

My lover she engages me -

In time.

These swirling skies of fortune,

The lakes’ grey and white despair,

These suicides at sunset -

Ethereal and rare.