Awaiting the Slow Revival

The rain eases down slowly

Outside this old villa

The creaking of the wooden floor

The sleeping dogs by the sofa

A box of tobacco on the table

Icons on the walls

Books on the shelf

A swallow flies by

As she falls asleep beside me

In her old home


Coltrane plays some notes

Death arrives soon

Where shall we be

When the winds get heavy

And lust is conquered

By instincts of mortality


At the end of summer

The darkness creeps in

The cold air mingles

With warm cups of coffee

And yet again we prepare

For time to be shared

In our temple of survival

Awaiting the slow revival