For Francois, my friend poet who helped me more than he knew.
We had planned on more time.
I miss him.
There is a star fallen at midday on the hill
It burns and sparkles between two houses
It blinks and pulsates
Winks and beckons
Then it falters and vanishes in the shadows of a bush
in the beginnings of a summer haze and its smoky greens.
What is it sending in its beamed message?
What did you say that I did not hear?
Was it hope or caution signs?
Was it ‘believe’ or ‘dream no more’?
What did you say to me?
A sparrow lands at my feet
lured by crumbs, vestiges of a feast.
‘Feed the dream’ she says in earnest.
Do I ever hear anything else?