"I am the scribe of every bright word..."

At this moment

all the beauty of the world

rides tumbling in her fiery hair

a world lush with tigers and flowers

green rains and simple ease


Laughing fire cool jade wind the curve

of her back a peninsula of desire


In that hour

she'll taste of apples and wine

on the good soft grass

and I'll fashion a horizon for us both

out of the truth in my blood


From the canyon of the heart this dream returns as an echo


late 83'/ early 85'


I hear trumpets on the islands

I see apple orchards at night

My ancient shoes kneel down by the swans

The summer sky is a shy black girl

Singing rhymes over the spinning flowers

As Christmas trees of sheer adrenalin

Arrive on the noisy blue carts of Eros



Jan. 83'


For Laurie


I am the prince of every snowflake

     that falls on this dear head

I am the caretaker of every tear

     that falls from these tender eyes

And I am the scribe of every bright word

     that falls from these lips

     be it happy, angry, or idle.


                But O my dearest

the light of your wonderous freedom

     it blinds me.

Be kind to these sightless eyes.