I sleep alone
and the willow whispers to me
softly
sweet verses
cut by the white of the moon
through her branches.
I sleep alone
and in that dreamless sleep
my heart echoes
the soft pitter-patter
of rain on the window,
yet there is no rain.
The nights have grown cold.
All I have ever known
has been shaped by these nights,
by poignant dew on morning petals.
All I have ever known
has been your face.
But now
I sleep alone.
