If you're ever on the riverside
where the sun beats your head
you would see the old man
selling hats of palm leaf
but you care not to notice him
having already smelled the sea
and too keen to cross the river
travel southward on the island
till the saline wind scalds your eyes
your skins itch to jump into the waves
yet the man with the palm leaf hats
would not cease to tell you
how burning would be the sun on the sands
and so badly you need to protect the head
by parting bucks that mean nothing to you
but a world to the mouths he feeds
and before you stamp on him a final no
she has one atop her hair
beneath which her eyes flutter like butterflies
her sun rouged cheeks untimely blush
and two born anew lovers
merrily head for the sea
having bought romance
for forty bucks.

Blue as the geography
of footprints across the dunes
quiet as the white music
of a silent moon
like the wind blowing
the soul off the water
the shadows go out
and are lost in the evening
I conclude the hypothesis
of sundown making no sound
while night climbs the vines
where lowing sadness abides
the ritual of tides pulls me under.

Night,
I love you
like a bride
loving her body,
the madman
the desert,
like the horse
loves its shadow,
the sad the lighthearted,
I love you like
a wanderer his ballad,
a poet his dark room,
like the moon.

slumber is fleeting
so is the promise of love
which can easily
be lost

Not drowning
in michigan waters

But waving,
and in fair hand
emerging

That flaming sword
destroyer of delusion.

Polar wind ruffling
your surface,
goose bumping emotion-
then, fading as
passing illusion.

Reflected cloud,
the clear blue sky uniform,
deep cool waters of
mind gently
overflowing