an early poem, free verse, about love, guilt and crime / can be found in "Poems People Liked (2)"

I don’t mind waiting.


Flowers fade.

The stripped stem lowers,



It is beauty that I’m after.


Sleepy-eyed, golden-snaked,

you slip away. A fissure furrowed

in the stone is breaking in the heat.


Around you shy clouds wheel

immeasurably distant

but between them cliffs are falling.


Trapped, you hesitate.

A dry blood loosens in your mouth. You know you’re dying

and at last I can’t help waiting.

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