A vacuum droned in the distance,
Unending summer pain,
You were bathing in sunlight,
I was the last to complain.
I wondered how we arrived here,
Eyes white as Siberian beaches;
Your painted toes playfully circled
My devotion, rhapsodies in peach.
You caught the sun in your shoulders,
A helping hand beneath straps;
I left my work in its folder,
Lawn mowers loud as thunder claps.
The water butt was empty,
Evaporated hearts there cried;
I sometimes feel your touch still,
Though many years have died.
