it was greying in boston
and us, too, greying
we and the sky, the clouds and us
the water not yet decided
between crystal and calm
and me, i, wondering if you remember
the names of all of your lovers and
if you do, do you remember
the feeling of their lips upon yours
or do you find that these things fade
turn grey, all old, all gone;
we were greying in boston-town
hoping for a glimpse of spring blue
fall yellow, summer green
winter white, even, when water stops
being wet and starts being dust
but hope is only sadness in denial;
grey is only sadness in disguise.
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