Inside this card
so hard
I’ve tried to praise
your ways,
your haunting eyes,
the sighs,
the petalled kiss.
I miss
your lilting walk,
shy talk.
Each line of verse
is worse;
I chew my pen -
yet when
I took no time
to rhyme
it came out right:
that night,
my sleepy-head,
in bed.
(February,
1987)
