My half-used heart is full
of people and clouds,
a bunch of cats and wind songs
and books
and dusty windows,
my singers, writers, painters, my poets,
my movies, a family of penguins,
a pirate, a parrot and a pink flamingo
and shoes and hats and summer dresses,
a Tom Waits’ blues, a lot of avenues,
everyday papers and the sad news,
blackbirds singing and plum pies
and laughs and sorrows and shadows
and lost combats and dead flowers and stars and bats,
a first kiss, a cowboy and a spy,
an empty swimming pool,
an empty old house,
and summer nights and winter mornings,
a birdhouse, a lighthouse,
and tears and fears and a one eyed teddy bear,
a bad and a good girl and a playground,
a bridge, a bride, a groom,
uncountable bags of tea,
bottles of wine and packs of cigarettes,
and little monsters in little boxes and all the times I ask you why,
a bicycle with its postman, a fisherman’s wife,
a pair of spare keys, a potato field, an orchard,
lots of lovely words from the beloved ones,
some hellos a few goodbyes,
your blue-brown eyes
and my broken hopes like broken bones.
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