Ah, how nice of you to leave me. All lonely and alone, a fair judgment for a heinous crime. But I am sad, I am lonely, my heart aches. I still sit by that stone lake in front of our house, and watch of the swans. Sometimes in my best dreams you come in a beautifully ornate house coat, and place your hand on my shoulder, and join me in my observance of the white swans, their flight across the lake to the forest, which now looked brown and yellow lighted by the strong sun. As you put your hand carelessly across my shoulder, my skin sensitive of the touch, the velvety softness. It was just as if someone had pulled a very soft scarf across my neck. We now watch the ground, our muscles tense with the feeling of the warmth of each other. And we spend the rest of the day lying on the ground watching the sky, the clouds, forming shapes, spent and happier.
I am waiting in silence. The pain is not because you went away, but that you come back again and again haunting my dreams. I am as calm as a lunatic can be. Calm and silent, vindictively gazing at the moon. I feel so numb, as I watch the orange red tiled open verandah, having my evening cup of tea on a chair. Our house, your and mine.
Sleep, sleep, sleep, I’m in too deep, lead me now to what I need most. Play it soft, what have I done? Keep some heart to this, nothing lasts here. (A lullaby.)
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