how glorious of my love to show his long forgotten tanned face
in our forlorn coal miner’s town, where we shivered and drank warm meadow teas in the winter months, and soon after filled our cups with those same leaves and a bit of brown liquor to unnerve ourselves when the betting got bad.
of course, the dog days of summer had long passed, and the bitter cold had settled on the mountain, reposed with snow.
What then, could have been said?
Some of us still bitter, and others like the cool summer shirts of Whitman, waltzed and danced on the brimming consciousness that was to be, and could have been.
And like the golden myopic shrew, our time was cut short, and we passed unto divinity.
An exchange of words, echoed into the starlit moon danced sky,
love was once here – and bid thee adieu!
Whither thou goest, my wanton girl, my archaic Holy brother in the Divinity of Days Gone By?
longing for the one with invisible flowers donned all about
who shook no bed, but made many nights.
and all the evenings spent on Park and Belleview, where the road met the sky
leaving no lonely nights, no unturned stone, only the right amount of yalps and yahoo’s
hurling toward Kansas, with the smokestacks peering over our right shoulders
the bitter night once shook hands with you and I and said unto thee
Love was once here.