A lonesome twister
lifts blossoms into the air
then ceases to be

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Early morning grey,
the world without human sound—
the birds don’t miss it

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The usual rain
but the playing field’s grass is
taller than ever

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Winter’s given up
letting the sun have its way,
warming empty streets

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The air may be clear
but this evening’s sunset has
little to work with

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No one to stop for,
the empty train displaces
blossoms from the track

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The dark clouds arrived
but the fierce predicted rains
barely wet the grass

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Though no one can come,
the church bells ring and ring and
ring and ring and ring

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A surprise meeting
so much to say—a single
word will have to do