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(Poem by Wendy Howe ) You think in numbers and fold the day into a list that lines your shirt pocket with the memory of my hand washing Malaysian cotton. So I express love as I dim the lamp, tilt the mirror and brush my hair into the evening breeze that carries its lilac scent toward you working in the garden. Your hands finsih sanding the trellis and complete the last task -- or maybe not. Tonight, our bed is half-full like the moon and the curtain has only a woman's shadow on its mind. To know more about this poem, about Wendy Howe All Images & Poems (En) 
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