A WHITE POPPY...

 

A white poppy in a bridle path

(Once I glimpsed death: she had

the face of a white poppy by the sea).

A red carnation withering

among the pages of a Quasimodo's book 

flicked through by the breeze:

red carnation conjured up by my words.

A full moon and a wolf

Both drinking

fresh water in my hand.

The moon had your voice, 

Helen, your voice.

The wolf mine.