Picture yourself this summer
sleeves rolled, tie loose
free among cafes
late sunset, long avenue
a strolling memory
of seasons, love and loneliness
you get home
open window
crickets' song
and lie down with nothing on
a breeze softly
sways the maps against the wall
* * *
Three a.m.
November moon
The last faint cricket.
Copyright 2001 & 2007 by Robert Ronnow.