
picasso
the moon awry
on a faraway beach
does my heart lie.
where is my true love?
night vessels have passed
aching core realized
this may be my last.
how does a dove
in mourning so sweet
lament a new day
prior to wing’s beat?
and I peering out
of windows of yore
cast older things
upon distant shore.
(c) 2016 rickjstassi