I remember you at times,
on the riverstream that brings
day to day little things
swinging away on the curls and ripples
of time,
of dead hours after noons,
of little whiles dozing off as the summer breathes breezes.

And I can handle, it’s okay,
it is true
that the smallest of all men
even them get through times
when hope seems lost and nothing left is undone.

I can handle that. I can handle it always.
Always, but when
I remember you at night times.