silence reigns, sitting on clouds of golden thought it whispers rather than musics songs sans end holds its tongue at moments clock mimics cuckoo..  turning keys are both well come friend or - farewells whilst kaleidoscopes collaborate  far beyond  space speakers talk of seasons,...

A window holds its breathas the day thins to a pale wash.Frost gathers at the corners,soft as dust.Someone walks past,coat brushing the airand sending in a brief drift of coldthat sharpens a thoughtthe way cold sometimes does—clean, immediate,quietly sure...

From living,  to memory,  to dust,  to forgotten.    My beloved, so many pictures, so pretty your grave, so sadly forgotten.    From heat of blushes, to the cold of death, to existing in memory only, to forgotten dust in the wind.