In you, I have found dandelions
a multitude of times...

I once dreamt of
poppies and windmills...

I remember that July 24 afternoon one yesteryear
as Giant Brocade Crowns bloom in the night sky...

This day
smells like...

The falling dark red leaves of Autumn
were a dream constructed by a shipwright...

Old Roses-
rustic, uncertain...

And here I am again
getting up from bed...

When this world
let every...

Hand-knitted dreams
are what I get...

While the rain
redolent...

Your words
are fossils...

The horizon
painted loneliness...