Wishing well pennies

In Olden times
Things got wet
Our yesterday's
Like golden finches
Spangle the gloom
Wishing well pennies
Softly gleaming
Dead as a feather
Blowing in sand
Memories stretch
The golden dune
Eminent stench
Bird in hand.

In the garden
Hurt is fecund
And it often
turns with beetles
Into cracks and open sods
I can live 

Alone without you
I will have to
In the end
Cold hands and poetry
Breezeblocks and lollipops
агл шеы иуфгешагд

2017