E Mail To Damniso Lopez 8

Tiny, fuzzy red wild flowers
With long pale green stems
Flutter like red birds
In the tall grasses that surround.
I should be happy, walking
In this place, but I am not.
Like Pablo Neruda I could
Write the saddest songs.
Neruda had lost his lover,
But Pablo, I never had her
As my lover to lose her,
But I could write the saddest songs.
The marsh’s border mud
Is spotted with silver.
It shines as if it were a black sky
With a multitude of stars.
When I get to the yellow bench
She will not be there.
I will sit down alone and gaze
Upon an Anhinga perched
On a leafless branch
Spread her long exquisite wings.