John and his insecurity
            his kindness
            including us all
            ‘isn’t he a bit like you and me?’
            lurching around in the dusk
            grown restless
            all he needs all he seeks all he wants
            is all that he writes for
            is all that he sings desperately about
            with crying eyes
            beneath a bloated neck
            and a ragged sprawl of hair
the girl the woman the ocean child with the fire off the reef
seashell eyes                     windy smile
                        holds me
how can I live without knowing that somewhere in the world John Lennon is alive?
knowledge that flooded incessant days
with magic
a relationship triggered by the simple word ‘yes’
something positive an upsurge for once in a belonely time
buried ‘neath concrete in Central Park
while I get the feeling elsewhere
a smile a dance a quietly strummed guitar a girl
a circle drawn