Paper kites intentionally blank geometry on my fingers
a girlhood with three languages
“…and you are beautiful in every single way
words can’t bring me down‚…”
salt and snow
in winds of mysteries love comes and goes
blessings of a rain that was promised but never came
repeating a will to power
much softer sounds as they receive the offering
of generations that speak a language less popular
“…and won’t you ride with me
tonight lets not talk of next summer‚…”
blind spots on the periphery
forever sailing to a wind that is rising
repeating a will to power
much softer sounds as they receive the offering
bolsters a fear that is gone today
You are the sea that sings
We are the river that runs
Seen the days when roads were dust
new mermaids bring about the language that he wrote
a woman of no importance bespeaks the woman of the Victorian Age
my morning jacket will meet us like a dream
spending the day looking for language
another couple of stars in my constellation
“…she is exceedingly handsome‚…”
“…and she reads a good deal i suppose…”
“…she has many resources in herself, many resources…”
and you outlived him because the time was different
in the theatre as audience instead of author
in the days when the audience is the key to a larger drama his words bespeak