how speckled-blue robin's egg walls high loomed

into the day's palest and shadowed by a blast burnt sun

strange shapes made to create a bowing security's rhythms

in tattered wooden frames hung crooked in the hands of balance

far better this for its few blinking strips of clouds uncovered

than the constant echoes of long living in an empty room

two more chairs sitting there to mark their past spots

where conversation in fine gowns sauntered away

mocking the high-backed chairs in their rigid remembrance

of all the glimmers of life that sat on their cushions before

when parties remained shouting in the room down the hall

flowers are three and their droop crimsons now singing

at the clarity of good crystal to show off clipped beginnings

tablecloths speak white now pristine and good shining

but backs turn on reality crying in boots heavy and hard

under blue umbrellas all laughing on a fine summer day

dark curls up behind her and shades grey in wool blankets

two hands upon strong chin to close off all intruders

lion-pawed and pouncing down upon her small silence

breaking the drowsy mood of her much-loved brooding

yes, it's a pose so becoming to all the elegant sorts

after all, how can one deny the sheer joy of pink curtains

though you've turned upon them to face what you've lost

how can one deny blue skies all fresh hope and true pride

by closing your minds on the brilliance of pure chance

yes, all this for love's lives and the thrill of sweet lies