nine o'clock in the morning
two coffees have gone
and all hope that could remain
was buried by
an unrestful with sad white
hands.
i'm not complaining, you see
- there still are green leaves
to be seen in the garden -
it is just
love is not a reason
flies with seagulls in
wintry times
towards your eyes
but what happens
when arms are not
there to receive mine?
you take one more
coffee
to go.