Parting is the sweetest of all sorrows.

Memory

Because memory is a crazy woman.

She walks backwards and returns with unexpected things.

A torn Monty-Python script, a certain colour of skin,

a candid smile, a lover's eyes, a newspaper.

If, at an odd hour, in a conference,

She holds out to you a bright red bra,

Know that I just remembered you.

Picture

There's an empty rectangle on the wall

In memory of ciders, weekends,

and a drifting couch.

There was a beautiful picture there once,

Daubed in colors that dreams are made of

And tinted with blue-grays, ashes from cannabis,

shades from jaded red sheets.