Ulla

Your tunes still show, on shimmering trees, down a blue archipelago, add them to this shipwreck, on pirate seas, they hold a golden confession, leaves are still swollen, I dig in my heels, down guttering catwalks, can you see me reckon, within sight of your dreams, when you howled and begged, before sunrise alone, on bread, wine and grief, the battle for tone, a private collection, blows out before me, music’s gentle protection, that wretched story.