Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
Grass grows yellower.
Faintly if at all the early
Hover, hover.
Water becoming ice is slowing
The narrow channels.
Nothing at all will happen here again,
Will ever happen.
Against the sky the willow spreads a
The silk's torn off.
Maybe it's better I did not
Your wife.
Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
What is it? — Dark?
Perhaps!
Winter will have occupied
In the night.
