* Still a broken heart *

Clouds depart, emptying.
Left on me deserted sky, vast vacancy,
Much sorrow under the brilliant sunlight,
As if it cares nothing.

Wind orchestrates,
Leaves whispering gossip,
Millions accounts of the life and death
Of things that cross our mind missing.

Much was lost, things I forget,
But not that haunting thought.
Reminding me that I,
Under the Sunday afternoon, still a broken heart.

* Cemetery *

I imagined, 
With sincerity,
Decomposing quietly under the fine-grained slate.

On which
The letters
That spell melodiously you indelible name were carved with delicacy.

Or maybe
You prefer 
Simply the delightful silence of an aging pine tree;

Remember
Vividly 
The one which charmingly witnessed our memorable first treat.

Your withdraw,
However,
Compels me to fill the empty space you left with my flimsy breath.

Somehow if you 
Miss me,
Find me in that graveyard we know near which Cohen was laid carefully.