.....the still throat
horse and silent
hoofs worn sore and smooth
impatient stompings
as if some forced foot thunder
might instill the echo
from a waning tide
no longer can i bide
course callings to the stars
the sea
the earth
what song should i have sung
what pettled poem upon the lips of
goblets formed in gold or wood
or was the dance to slow
to fast
or ill disguised in dreams
it seems
gentle in the ways of sunsets
tropical and soft the breeze
across the orange horizons
comes a hand upon my arm
mere coaxing that its time to leave
there's other worlds to grieve
and other seas to call upon the all
same as the one
that set my heart in thrall
beloveds hidden
deaf
and blind
and yet
i pause and paint upon the heart
in azure strokes
...the visions left behind
in poem and song and rhyme
in case he comes too late
and wonders
wonders
why i didn't wait