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In the morning, a Sunday morning, shadows of sea and adumbrants of rock in her eyes... horseback in leather boots and leather gauntlets by the sea.
In the evening, a Sunday evening, a rope of pearls on her white shoulders... and a speaking, brooding black velvet, relapsing to the voiceless... battering Russian marches on a piano... drive of blizzards across Nebraska.
Yes, riding horseback on hills by the sea... sitting at the ivory keys in black velvet, a rope of pearls on white shoulders.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.