Missing strings

The absence you touch in my mind

like the green smell of grass mowed.

 

But what is it that comes

when the rain falls at night

I remember music of  mandolin

with missing strings?

 

I try to create a space

when the river tide rises

I climb up to the upper room

and from the window 

I watch the wind 

whips fear away from the trees

as if comforting them.

 

Last night I walked along the river 

the winter cold was not crisp as it should be.

 

Image

 

The sidewalk.

They were gone

the dining tables with blue glasses 

and pink chairs. 

 

You smiled admiring the colors

last summer.