I hurried in sudden discomposure,
To collect the final dregs of winter

Chagrined and helpless, seen it leave.
Sadness is on its own today.

My dreamy morning indolence 
Is no more broken by trickles of her wet hair

Neither the air smells of her.
The morning coffee is on its own today. 

The afternoons are devoid 
Of pigeons meeting in my courtyard

Neither the sun mellows over here.
The armchair ruminations are on their own today. 

I felt her absence in the midnight
Of no wakeful poet in the neighborhood

The day ends again and 
Sadness is again on its own today!







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