Comes soon the dawn to cool the heat
of nights too long embrace
and with the dawn, a soft wet dew
on leaves, a glistening lace.

Comes soon the sun's stiletto beam --
sharp -- a cutting edge
steals your eye, and love slips in
a sword sings a dirge.

To come in darkness and in dreams
so filtered then, and now
the dreams as shattered, sprinkled dust
drifts like mist somehow ...

" I sing of memories ... " a new manuscript.