Wine and Writing on a Cold Night

Here I sit, Rooted to a chair, Drinking myself dry, With my curly hair Here I sit, With wine in a hand, And pen in the other, Every breath a sigh, Every limb out of joint, Lost in a red sea of self-pity As my eyes stare down at the pages I seem to lose…


Suddenly years have gone by.Clear is the water flowing down mountains,As it was back then,Grass that was cut has grown again,To reclaim its shape, again,But you, amid this scene, have changedYou were unmarried when I left,We flirted, we could have been,But now several children surround you,Asking me, Who I am.