Four better days P.

He wonders in his haze

Sauntering around maize fields

He erects everyday in her gaze

Walled in and porous he flirts with P

Through a Moria of peep holes

Whispering notes sent silently in between canals

Floating to her hiding spot on her island under the blue gum tree

Sometimes those messages on spring’s petals are direct as metal and free

‘In sickness and memory we will never be apart babes,

As we decipher the alphabets that string the strata in our hearts together’

He seems to say each day with different words as he slaves and prays

For better days