ISSUE: Summer 2011
A yacht lies down
in my window, on the harbour
the dusk has come.
In distant time
a bus drifting, the young woman
was far from home
who folded there
out of silence, to the shoulder
of a young man.
I can recall
his gesture as, against the glass,
he rested then.
We were carried
through the vallies. On silver light
lay silver rain.