Life is no more than a flame

As a flock of birds fly away during winter

He migrated with the army, leaving her in the nest

The moon her presence light

Petrichor

                         his company

‘Does she remember Piccadilly? Lights’

Blue sirens

                                    through the window

Rain shooting before his eyes

The ring bell

As the moon stands for the night sky

Her true colours light his darkest times

As fragile as branches on a storm

She opens the door

‘The bus. The Zara’s dress. Red high-heels’

A stare of pity

                             the traditional words

                                          meaningless

As sunflowers turn towards the sun

His mind doesn’t get her out of sight

Wearing the black dress

from the first encounter

Cold

In the grave

           John doe

In her heart

            John Buck

Blow