Sandra Fowler (February,4,1937 / W. Columbia, WV, USA)
Black house roofs are a mirror to the smoke.
The cloud mood makes a backdropp for good-bye.
You lift me parallel to chimney stacks
And make me dizzy with your old world kiss.
The soot is falling like night colored snow
I feel its weight like stove lids on my eyes.
I know I will make poetry again,
But who will chafe my heart when you are gone?