Tumbleweed Fever

Elizabeth came to the diner, today--
Not to eat or pass the time of day.
For I knew, as surely as she,
But she was bringing a book for me
To read, between the empty hours.
As beautiful as flowers--the poetry.
For it has framed within my heart
A passion as pure as a picture,
Warming me in the imagery of my own
Illusive entity--
And I can ride up and down the halls
Or lie on my bed and be wed to verses alone,
Just so the phone doesn't ring 
And send me back to another wing.
My heart is a tumbleweed tonight--
Rolling on the desert of my loneliness
--and as dry as the cacti.