Little does she know:/
Words from her are like water,/
soothing my parched tongue.

If anything’s left/
over from her busy life,/
I’ll gladly glean it!

I’ve seen shoes, cave, bed./
Can I see inside your head?/
What are you thinking?

Your outside landscape/
is lovely. May I water/
your inner garden?

Does she know that men/
long to sing to her and dance?/
At least one man does.

Now that food storage/
is settled, preparations/
done, I’m not needed.

When things end, it’s still./
There’s no inspiration left./
You just leave: “Take care.”

Your porch balcony/
beckoned to me o’er your street,/
and I almost sang.