silence
hanging strata of blue smoke
clustering flowers
rays of penetrating light
impossible branch hands
dingy red orchard chairs
old, dead faces slipped
little stale glances
They smoked and talked,
that feeling of smoking and talking.
over the old farm twinkling
clasp of hands
paint was scratched
wind blowing
bright cheeks
glowing japonica flower.
strange, longing murmur
fair, slight, broken rose face,
convulsive jaw lonely without teeth