Two weeks, fourteen days, passing rain
squalls and stepping through puddles
like a unicorn shivering with uneasiness
just him looking for his virgin
sweet mouth crooked, hair flying
smiling into the wind
muscle like strata rippling the earth, tenacious
body swinging, hands clamped easy now
throwing his knife through the air
sharp crack, ball flying into the night
caught by gravity somewhere toward the flag
warmth like a sunset fire, smiling
a graven image of yes please
showing me the way to that tranquil heath
and all the rising delight of reality
someone told me was never possible
they lied and I am smiling
because this is no weather report
he told me its just okay to share
on any beach we walk along
in any sunset, on any sunrise
and if there is no moon to light the sky
then we can see the stars ...
deb
Saturday, February 12, 2000
Back To Menu