To the clouds and drifts of grey.

There are tears in those places.

They reach for the moon.

They come like unexpected petals

of a blossom so new.

A finger on my cheek.

My eyes are closed.

I listen.

The pebbles on the shore

sing a song to the waves.

The salt and the brine

mix in my mind.

I turn to the passing.

The leaves.

The dear ones.

The questions you ask

at three years of age.

Sun rays timid

dance on your forehead.

I long for the touch

the warmth

the caress

that reminds me of a love

from long ago.