When the ink dried,
It was then I felt
The copper rust of age
as it came from tired eyes.
After song,
On the sea,
Where whipped dunes stay barren in an empty breeze.
And it blows with an awful truth.
Of laughter that peeled off in tattered rags
In the graveyard of her youth.

Her skin had shed its scent
On the edge of patience
Tried
Then spent
And then no words could pull the past,
In pieces as it lay,
In melting sorrow
Left in mud
Like stones when we cracked
And grayed
And aged
And passed