the breezes have been coming

pictures of poppies

the alone feeling

of being on the floor

of a dark night

in the middle of

the sidewalk

finger figures in

gravel dirt

of wrinkles on

knuckles as you

type

of an exhale

of eyelashes

looking up

of a lip being bit

like shutting a

screen door

of the vcr light

in the middle of

the night

a glass of water

left for days

the silent choice

of each's numbness

a hanky tucked

in pocket

cheeks that rest

lightly in small

comforts

like sandalwood

and remembered

pillows and a teddy

bear

and a song by

george harrison

and a book sent in

the mail by dad

of tomato soup and

the coming of autumn

the breezes have

been coming