Writer's Eye

Summer is orange

Winter is blue,

Furthermore, this evening

I am meandering

Without you—

The silver glimmer

of minnows

In the sea

Above

Is inside me now.

Cold

Green apples

Exposed

White tissue

On counters

In metal dishes,

What's more, the Moon

Rises clear

What's more, cold.

On an abandoned sea shore

A demiurge

Structures

What's more, flings

Snowball stars

Out of sight

Into the universe.

What's more, presently alone

On our road

With the shops

Dim and shut

I moan

Transfixed

By a memory

Never old…

The touch

Of your warm hand

At the point when evenings are cold.image source