accapella- to be sung softly
how the night quells all that is yearning
for a hit of sunshine- a quickened smile
from the one who holds rubies
in the palm of his painterly hand
how the hit of sunshine can soothe
even in the darkest of dark nights
sitting on the edge of a wooden slated chair
a chairwoman without an agenda
just the simple serape loosely
worn around two rounded shoulders
swept over the edges of a loving chest
heaving thoughts not yet ready to say
the poem written in the bathroom
not ready to share the baring
of a tenderness-
a simple plea
can words and birds and trees
still melt the poet on contact
who shows up poemless
with just a song
sung accapella
through the wires, connecting
the western film with the eastern raga
when the hour grows lighter, and
when dawn raises her nightgown
over a heaving chest quite ready
to get on with a tango--to dare
to dream of partnering
across a bare uneven maple floor
with just enough clothing for a
three day outing--
in the bluish green
hills up north- as the sky blushes
its early morning brushing
your hair- deepened by no rushing
standing up, to catch
the last streaks
of a blackened sky at dawn
before the lightening--
and i lay in a daydream- believing
that the red in the cardinal
shall climb the dusty
stoned walls of a cordial encampment
shall breathe the cardinal song of leaving
one spring- allowing
the gusts of mid winter
sans waiting- for the time taunts even
the most able of warriors- out the door
le danse of deliberation- before
the dusk of unbelief gets cast
how the starry crew moves
to the groove of velvet
underground- as blues
for allah gently braids
sassafras tea for a moondancer
about to lift off into twin peaks
of the unknown celebrant-
journeying deeply
into the graces of the two
souls in one collateral mind
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