Solitude
Come to my heart
with a mask of purple,
gold and green,
come with your twisted candlestick
smile, come with kisses and
lies and wilted roses
and maybe I will let you in.
(the door is locked for now)
Today
it is raining silver music notes.
My hands are cold and my heart
aches, just like my head,
just like the monotonous dancing
of honeybees—
I have nothing
left—tell them, when they come,
tell them I have nothing left,
my garden has grown sad
and cold and ancient,
with no more flowers left to spare.
Tell them, when they come,
that winter is waiting,
the dandelions have blown away
in a cloud of scattered stars,
and tell them that
I will soon be gone.
