big, pale, spider wrist a
with an old man onit
who in its legs lays
a notlikeoldmen
young girl (5maybe6or) 's

hand, which he tells, "dear,"
about how, "when I was a
younger man, and the world
a bit slower, pirouetted, a fraction
of youth whitely
with me                            and dear
someday
                  you'll

be someone's wife. who'll love you
and dear, you will be beautiful
when I, like now, your hand in my hand,

shall                       walk

you to him down between the real
prettiest fountain of petals
from your family cast
by hands that bore you
to this moment and pass you
into his
                 .dear, I on that day, will cry

                     and laugh."

breezy
lustful
whole,

the soft of your earlobe against my cheek.

how can the future exist when

now
your wild sage smell is laced over me like a winter chill and your lips,

your lips are so

                                               dangerously



near.

as unloved
as a cigarette ****
she lies

habitually
daily
he bends to kiss
her tattooed
left
breast
goodbye

without ever
opening his
eyes

One of my wishes is that those trees,
so old and firm they scarcely show the breeze.
Where not as 'twere the  merest mark of gloom,
but stretched away, unto the edge of  doom.

I should not be withheld, but that some day,
into their vastness I might steal away.
Fearless of ever finding open land,
or the highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.

I don't know why I should ever turn back
or those not set forth upon my track.
To overtake me, who should miss me here
and long to know if still I held them dear.

They would not find me changed from him they knew-
only more sure of all I thought was true.

The stately tragedy of dusk
   Drew to its perfect close,
The virginal white evening star
   Sank, and the red moon rose.