My baby, my baby

Time deserts the scene – it could be

a thousand and one years

‘fore I awake in my blue painted room,

a millenia of being late and brocki dates

in arrears.

Every thought must be consumed

Every bit of sadness sincere;

now I hope the weather holds,

now I walk the song

to tears.

What is tenderness tonight?

I lost the pearl I held so dear,

as my hands draped around the branches

of talking blueberry bushes, wedding marches 

and that whole burial ordeal. 

Where is the cat I fed for 18 years?

My whole life, that is, all of it 

spent kissing in between her ears!

Now I cry in someone else’s kitchen

as she disappears.