I

These sunflower dreams
Clipped and cut out of the garden
Arranged and rearranged
On the plain table
Whisper like voices
Speaking of love, hope, pain, death,
Faces of eyes
Staring and staring
Across the endlessness of time
And the unarticulated colors
Bleeding within.

II

Painting green cobblestones,
Red tables and chairs,
Becomes the faceless figures
And yellow windows
Of the sidewalk café
At midnight.

Those farmers and shopkeepers
Finish their drinks.
Never ask:
"What is he doing, there?"

III

Late August. I stand in fields
Of golden, sunlit corn
Stretching out of sight,
Uncounted ears
Ready for harvest.

But then, the crows are coming.
Soundless. Black.

IV

Alone at last, you stand still
As cypress trees
In the moonlight,
Savoring the moment.

Open air, darkness,
Immeasurable distance;
The curves of mountains
And a sky strewn with stars.