i recall the sand - the cliffs - the strong tide
the rocks - the walks - the fire in the year of drought
walking quickly through thick smoke
so as not to get licked - hot tongues
panting for water and for love
the descent to autumn is not as i thought
a movement of leaves - of winds - of the sober colours of dying
who calls - who sees - who knows what winter will be
spring will not come again
and summer is gone
Sunday, 9 March 2008
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