The sky is red
The flowers green
The leaves are pink
The stones tend our wounds
He washes in the basin
His memory beige with dim
Did she leave yesterday
Or the day before
He no longer recalls
The song of her walk
The blue of her hair
Her laughter's echo
Sits on the wall
White washes the air
In the hallway below
He even misses
The green of her insults
The red of her temper
The rose of her hips
The onyx of her eyes
The gold of her return
Rests on his lips
With the blue of the sky
The stillness of stones
