top of page


All rivers will run to the sea,

But those currents won’t bring you back to me.

(I still followed them to the coast,

where my heart filled with wind and waves.)

You could have painted the sky blue,

Instead you sang the rain.

(The flowers were thirsty

and it made my garden bloom.)

You left me with a hole to fill

And in it I planted art.

(But unless the sun comes back,

that seed will never grow.)

The tides will rise and fall again

after none of this remains.


bottom of page