Drip

In the deep silk night you sit alone

Cold drops of time on the curve of your skin

You pull the sheets to your chest

Shaking ripe with cold

Hear the empty wine glass rolling,

Pendulum-like, on the wood floor –

That’s the sound of your mind

tiring with thought

Perhaps now, you’ll find a place inside

Where you can dream of seasides and autumn trees

And there, settle yourself and close everything

For a long, long time

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