the fir trees glare down at me.

the fir trees glare down at me

from afar, from where I sit on the porch,

leafing through old letters you sent

to me.   my tears blot the page.

I sit on my feet,

humming a melody.  I can’t think

when the wind is moaning like

that;

moaning like a river frothing

at the mouth.  moaning like

some giant dog.

you came up the mud bank,

your hair glistening,

as if you had just gone for a swim.

I know you were at home,

taking a shower,

getting ready for the day.

you smile at me, and words fall prettily

from your purple mouth.

I catch a scent of your perfume

in the palm of my hand.