in the still and heavy air
of the third floor
august
the dust hung in curtains along
shafts of sunlight

time crawls in the hallway like
a rabid beast
afraid  to reveal least
it be consumed

if you breathed slowly you could taste/feel the wood of the roof
baking in the hot sun above you
making slow strange sounds
as it waited thru its years

the cat
'shadow'
is unafraid

aimless among those empty third floor rooms
tossing the words to the page
the chasing thoughts trying to overthrow
my mind aches with the constant images
and flow of words
but i dare not cease
it may be my last day
this may be my last word

it is  not

mimic this moment with imperceptible
perfection
the clockwork of progressions
when the day grew late and the family gathered
i would escape  the cool wet basement
to the far side
safe behind a wall of water none wanted
to walk in

fortress of blue wooden boxes

time distorts the lense
and i grow weary tonight
with no cat to keep my company
so goodnight my brothers
fare thee well

brazen the thief crawling
in filth and the breeding dens of disease and lies
his ragged clothes with many hidden jewels
his thin and dusty form with many faces
he moves like no man
clinging to the wall he appears sudden to you
and his quick speech is watery and thick
to hide his meanings
confusing you with a dazzling light
his fingers slip along your pocket
seeking the riches within
seeking entrance to the forbidden
seeking to ****** to unspeakable

his eye wanders along your clean face
leaving behind a taste of foul intentions
leaving behind a stench of misgivings and stolen words
you shout to force him to withdraw
but he will not flinch from his spider like stance
up on you
up in you

the brazen thief his long practiced appeal
wears down threadbare
and ends in a tattered
textbook of oddly crafted and poorly painted lies
he is no mans friend
he is no man
he is a rough beast
that knows neither sorrow nor regret
do not shield him
do not spare him

feel your heart race
like a busy dreamer caught up in
such a perfectly beautiful dream
like a soul boxer making his last stand
throwing fruitful punches at the star strewn skies

watch as the brightest stars fall
watch as the words you labored so hard to write
are taken from their context
poor boy don't you know words serve
whatever mouth willin' to speak them

and to that end you can sucker punch the dawn
but itll hit back with blue skies and summer breeze
feel your heart race
keep pace with your wildest dreams
falling like the brightest stars

his blistered claw marks on the tarmac
lead from burning horizon
to the chlorine haze of the motel pool
where she lay in a barren repose
one string of her bikini top lay broken
but the slow pace of events gives no rush to repairs
she simply languidly sips from her ice tea
and bathes in golden sunlight
while he waits his just deserts as her footstool
muttering a shapeless version of complaints
but i see his worried expression
i know that his assassin commentary
under a different name is still a paper thin lie
the world has never known darker places
than the souls of men
and the devices they set to toil in their name
even fates twisted clown must pause
to consider
the weight of his thorny crown
for the eyes of a thousand lost souls
he has influenced are upon him
and you cant negotiate the stain of the past
once it has set
you can only spend your days rubbing
misery into its spreading web
i lean down and slip him a simple note
turn back the page brother
of the inglorious fates
and in these dwindling hours
of our old age
let us forgive our youthful selves of transgression
and as i depart the motel for the last time
i see the blistered claw marks
of his steady decline back to the burning horizon

any action brings
intolerable dreams
inaction is not possible
decree of destitution
the image to impart to you
is a small framed window
single paine glass
old old glass
the kind that gave little more
than greasy distorted image
and the contained within is the fleeting distant
cries pleading and warning
calling for hope within a
decree of destitution
both a wretched creature malformed and ill
and man stout and fair within the same coffin of flesh
innocence vilified

as if they were mere
words these phrases i throw
down on the page with the haste of rage
as if mere words could blast and sunder stone
as these have the cold rock of my heart
as if mere words could rip screaming vengeance
from the blood faces of a battlefield
but that is the nature of warring desires
within the cage of one mans soul
no....these words i wrest from burning rage
are not passing fancy on some distant summers day
but the very fingers of ****** clawing for
purchase on vile enemy's throat
the very sweat of the embittered battle between
sworn foe
but that is the nature of warring desires
within the cage of one mans soul

i cannot contain my fear
it run rampant in the fresh planted fields
of plans come to naught
my rancid terror dances and tramples
thru the ordered lines of what we have built
my horror
feeds loose and hungry
on the fallow crop
distorted and screaming obscenity's  at your soft skin
the discharge of pointless angers
retort to my hope
i cannot remain seated here a moment longer

the day like a beautiful woman
beguiles you from the dark path that
your troubles lead you
the spring air itself seeks to
enlighten and revive

but stained is the canvas on which you
are painted
and while they are rich in flavour
the hues in which you are rendered are
filled with traces of the darkness that begat you
and even the hint of which leads you to this place

a whooping crane glides close to the chop of the water
wheeling on the turn of the breeze
the lakes dark waters give no tale to its depths
only reflects the jewels of the sun

you stand there in the shade of a pinetree
and with stillness grasping you heart
watching the day unfold unhurried
it tries once again to beguile you from these
shadows of thought
with the sounds of children's joyful play
and the rush of eagerness as a passenger jet rises high above
delivering its fragile cargo to bright futures
to the travellers quest to discover the lost country
and find their own kingdoms under the sun

but after such time as this
it takes more than mere distractions
to bend a life's path

i would give much to see your smile
would offer to stand the night-watch
with the weary men of the dutch gate
would render worlds with the pen
but you cast aside such things
this is your own dark road and
alone upon it you must tread

back to all the yesterdays
back to the stack of love letters
written in night's sorrows
to all thouse lovers left behind
back to simple truth of it
back to the one true heart and the knowin
back to your beginnings

play the cards dealt
play like you love the game
even though its the hardest thing you've ever done
play like you believe that romance is a means to an end
that the heart can be brought and paid for
like your true heart can be one of them
cause they will hurt you if you stand apart
if you show your true nature
so play like you love the game
play the cards dealt

it will be in the moonlight
of some none too distant night
you will come upon another soul that sings
come upon another heart that breaths like you do
and you will know
see the truth in the lovin
that its more than some hearts game
that its more than some adventure in the sheets
you will know the hearts song

once when my heart was heavy
sought refuge in a place where the laughter was strange
where there were men of pestilence in their souls
but it was a place to call home
it was a place that in the cold of night remained warm
you might be frightened by the gleam in their steel shod eyes
but i know the road they have walked in heavy silence
and i know that nothing forgiven is ever regretted
stealing away with scraps of their souls
at the dinner table of the paupers and pawns
at the crowning moment of failure
goodnight and goodbye they call out so fondly
because a few days from christmas we all look so perfect
we all look like we are living in a better place
so let these dark eyed men carry away your fears
let them wrap you in the stillness and slumber
and drift off to sweet dreams

the room of stained
walls filthy with crumbling decay
edifice of the polite world diseased and addicted
a tribute to the troubled world
and its manyfold ways of not seeing
what is in plain sight
what is plainly wrong

a child hungry and cold
on the street corner
big city america

grand celebration of small voices filled with regret
people who have always been unheard
speaking in ever louder voices
but they remain silent compared to the
great machines of money and power
the grand design of greater comforts and better packaging

things have changed
it has gotten better
a generation tried to stop a war
and tried to find lasting peace
but gave birth to social reform
and social openness
a rational discussion of things
an altered course
from the altered minds

but more needs to happen
there is still a child on a street corner
cold and hungry
homeless shelters are money makers
for the new social support business
the war on drugs is the cash cow
for the drug rehab and prison industry
these are things that must change

america is a process

the room of stained
walls filthy with crumbling decay
edifice of the polite world diseased and addicted
a tribute to the troubled world
and its manyfold ways of not seeing
what is in plain sight
what is plainly wrong
i should have a place to live
and enough to eat
we all should

the daylight bridge
over mornings cool shallow waters
carries the dark veiled men
to the salt stained rocks of the levee
where they stand amid the sea spray
silently counting the thunder of breaking waves
silent tally of immortal sea
she walks there among the giants
picking flowers in the heart of the raging sea
because that is where she believes she belongs
because she believes she is cursed
i plunder the sand from her salted skin
hoping to heal her wounded mind

the daylight bridge
and her lips are on my mind
full lush supple with silken touch
watch them deliver hammer-stroke with tender wet touch
watch her mouth give birth to nightmares
as she looks at me calmly
watch the complexity of her eyes as they
walk her through the apocalypse of her hearts desire
full lush supple with silken touch
like a lover in summers eve
too near to touch too far to flee
too frightening to be

she carries with her a leather bound book
with names and faces
with places whipped by dust
others careworn with a blanket of snow
barren as the tomb
a motel sing flickering in a humid night
and the tears you know come attached to its neon glow
a silhouette of a woman seeking to be whole
in the labours of the unholy
you despise her
but she sustains the air i breath
she maintains the mountain that i lay under
i live for her smile

the daylight bridge crumbles in the humid night
and like the iron soiled black veiled men
we stand and with guarded silence await the dawn
and the redemption of her smile
await her
and she speaks my name
like a treasure
to be stolen

in the moments just as dawn discovers the sky
and lays a ****** kiss on the ancient alter
of a soft sea's sandy beach
the rain sweeps away the dust from my eyes
washes away the thoughts that long held me to these broken stone halls
and sets my soul
to this candlelight flicker
in the warm tradewinds
that so entice you and leave you in the raptures of her arms
but she is a mysterious song
her tale full of the spice of the east mythology's
full of the heat of passions found at the end of many roads
when all desperations and desires have parted
leaving only the bare soul
leaving only the true words written in your heart
there in the flickering candlelight
in the warm tradewinds heading east
towards Madrid
to her
her words reaches through the tumult of the sea
thick and rich like a wine
and with the velvet softness that only a woman's voice can give
and forgetting yourself
you turn the tiller
setting course for Madrid
and the destiny of roses in flickering candlelight

this deviant moment
exposed to light of day
unable to mute my words
they tumble out and roll round
like a car full of clowns in the circus
all color and no content
one rolls back to me
gets in my face
eyes red with its irate feelin
puffin on a greasy cigar
it makes all kinds of loud noise in the back of my head
trying to guilt trip me out
keeps me awake half the night

this deviant moment
flows like a charm for him
flows like cheap wine
when the friends are near and dear
price don't come till harsh light of day
face up in the mirror full of denials
full of regrets
full outa steam just shuffle through the moment
knowin that you'll get to the track on time
just gotta get the ole mutt movin
and the dusty road from here to eternity
never seemed so unsteady as it dose today

the deviant moment
was her magical hour
was her moment to shine in the
artificial sun
she had acceptance speechs written
and a dress picked out for her own red carpet stroll
she had studied all the books
and gotta pretty good bead on this whole motherhood thing
gonna name him 'seattle'
its was gonna be her magical moment in
the artificial sun


the deviant moment
was his break from the harsh road
it was his moment to loose himself
and just be
and that nirvana was in her arms
that moment was in beauty of her affections
but the carving in stone don't melt like ice
not freely given
but who can name the price of what its costs to the soul
they can ask but you can never 'plain to em
what the give takes out of you
step to that road be prepared to give up ever lookin back
the deviant moment passed between em
left them both changed
but she never will see it the same as him
shes trapped back there in the one horse mountain town
and hes shining on a sunbaked beach
in the cool cool moonlight
of a southern sun

the deviant moment
leaves us now
with her blanketed in snow
leaves him with regrets like children at your ankles
pulling at your legs ever demanding answers
to questions you never even heard
leaves me with thoughts bout going back to sea
bout sailing till iv lost all memory of this place
and her fondling the hands of time

fire in her eyes
the belly of the beast in her mind
trapped between day and night
trapped between the devil and delight

what madness she asks
every madness she replies
trapped between day and night
trapped between the devil and delight

her lover is a mental game
her lust is a puzzle trap
every turn she takes brings her closer to the end
closer to the truth that she is alone
trapped between day and night
trapped between the devil and delight

what to choose what is fun what is right
the devil has his perks
so can delight
what to choose what is right
trapped between day and night
trapped between the devil and delight

her scarred lip held a song
it was a hard song
moving like a candle on the dusty road
restless in the bitter wind
feel it in your dry mouth like the taste of snakes
feel it like a misery of the dry sand

but its her song and she sings it to me now
as she gathers the weeds and small bitter things
that will be our penance as a meal
i cast out a whip and its thorny threads
and it catches her eye
looking into me
the sea tilts
and capsizes the rowboat carrying her song to me

my hair is a dreadlock at the root
my hair ends in a fray
which end would you choose
i told her the fray
because the devil rides the dread
like a wild horse its eyes aflame
she holds my hand and will not speak
i kiss her hair
and wait for the sun to save us

and the candle burns brightly on the dusty road
the devil bears the burden of our wares
in exchange we carry his brother
she cradles this child of our fate
it tangles its tiny fist in her dreadlocked hair
and i saw that the fray was mine alone
so i tangled it in my lips
for my own song
a soft one of lovers

it was in the darkness that i found her
there by the dry fountain
its basin gathered the paper thin years
like withered leaves
like soul searching written with her lips
like a castle keep penned with the inks of my regrets

the dry fountain flowed once upon a time with a rich river of
all manner of worldly beasts
the fabled ones and the forgotten ones
and their tales like tapestry's woven with heart strings

now the dry fountain was her home
she bid me take my leasuire for a moment from my fleeing
so my bone thin horse could rest his weary heart
i offered her coins in gratitude for her shelter
with a gentle hand she turned such aside
and instead took my hand
and withdrew the pen embedded in my skin

and said to me that
'each dawn requires a darkness with which to begin'
she began with fragments of me
i tried in vain to be the candle that holds back the shadows
but in truth she is venus finding gentle sweet sainthood in her repertoire
like a frail swan of the ethereal grace

she wanted only to see the glory days to return to this place
to see the fountain flow once again
see its thriving life and its deep magics of the heart
we spent that winter camped there gathering each paper thin tomb
and placing them at the alter of the written word
but to no avail
the days had fallen to cold stone
and not even the brilliant light she shed soulshine and heart
could revive the dry fountain

the last i saw her she had glanced back from her road leading away
with a kind woman's smile she gives to friends
she once said i was too reckless with my heart
now i knew what she meant

she ignites the spoon
and in the flickering light
you see the hunger of her vacant eye
you feel the heartbeat slow rush
as she plunged
the walls sweat
things are crawling everywhere
but neither of you move
only sit in the awful silence
listening to the thin whisper
of water in the distant bathroom sink
to the soft sound feel of her fingers picking at
the eternal lock
of the death clock
here again you see that horrible hunger
in the eyes that once held nothing but joys
once held you with such love
now are slowly consumed
in this dark room
in this terribly silent place
this eternal lock
of death clock
hear the thought as she slips under the guise
that this way her tears cant be found
this way nobody can see
she ignites the spoon
and in the flickering light
you can see she is already gone
gone down that dark road alone
without you
you see the hunger of her vacant eye
you feel the heartbeat slow rush
as she plunged
in this eternal lock
she picks at with fevered desperation
futile
no one escapes

as the thin snow fell into the darkness time fell with it
her abstract voice tastes to the ear like death
but the rages of sorrow in her words
are a cold road infested with implications
...of a warm home broken
of a world in ruins
of a girl who now lives in slow death

she sits on the edge of the bed
in her torn apart life
knees drawn up to her chin
and whisper/screams why wont anyone listen to me
why wont anyone help
and the darkness mocks with silence

she bathes
and dresses
care to each detail
brush through hair fifty two times
but it all feels so empty
it all belongs to another woman's life
there's something wrong and she just cant stand it anymore
she's screaming inside but goes on brushing her hair
but it all feels all so empty

standing in the yard
torrential rain
her makeup and clothes ruined
but she just stands there limply
staring off into the night
searching for an answer that she knows she will never know
but searches anyway
doesn't even know why
its just so empty in here
its just so empty

the grave diggers son
rises before the dawn
out into the cold morning
out into the vast fields of the dead
this is not the future he saw
for himself
a farmer of the macabre
he plants them
firmly underground
but nothing grows
nothing good comes of it

this vast architecture of finality
this field of mourning and tears
this cold place of death
a place that others would rather forget
yet they build miles of marble
and years of art
in this quiet foreboding place
afraid if we dont honor the power
that can ****** the
life from us at any time
then perhaps it will come seeking vengeance

the gravediggers son
his hands ache from all the death he must
touch
from all the loss he sees and feels

this is not the life for me
he swears to himself in a whisper
as he has every day for thirty years
i will escape this place
dont plant me in the fields of the dead

the hall walker slides along the wall
one hand brushing the cheap paint
his thin vacant face
etched in a shallow gasping for breath caricature
the hall walkers drifting steps
are across the carpets patterns
but no one objects
his neat and clean golf pro outfit
still clings to its filthy rich beginnings
suede leather faces
and the disdain they project

the hall walker has paused
to announce his desire to be on his way
to the blank wall
a poster nearby grins down at his madness
with a fateful message about condoms
lest the madness spread no doubt
he raises his voice
but to no avail
the wall remains ignorant

but we are far from alone
me and the hall walker
a stream of faces
the tight lipped impaired people
come in waves through the hall
like a strange tidal basin of the medical world
the floaters and driftwood
the gathers of shells
and thouse who seek to hide inside them still
this odd place of the infirm

a dozen bent forms
pushing canes
and mounted on wheelchairs
slowly fold the hallway
with the repeated ebb and flow
of their travels
the low electric sound of their hover-rounds
like meat grinders digesting a daily dose
putter past in steady stream
a nightmare vision of what awaits
the hall walker stops to ponder
the fate of his domain
his hall is no longer his kingdom
and they now shoo him into rooms
or out the door
rather than let him walk the line
between dark and light
that is the way the world decides

the hall walker
pressed his golf shoe
into the soft dirt of wet night
and smiled clean and real
recalling the scent
and releasing his grip
he follows the young nurse to bigger and better halls
to walk the wall

the hollow man come calling
his crown of fig leaves
is tinged brown with decay
he carries a scent of late fall
and the woodsmoke of homestead cookfires
he bears with him a satchel made of skin
inside are the measures of madness
and the tools of his craft
he comes calling
to your door
sit with him at you table of plenty
and let him feast at his leasure
let him bide his time
and take his rest upon your finest linens
give him your silk shirt
and your skilled leather boot
fore this hollow man is one
who's displeasure you care not to seek
the hollow man come calling
to the headstone and the friars chapel
the hollow man and his empty echo of words
speaks in pig latin
foretelling all and yet nothing
his cold touch is bone thin
and he leaves behind a
letter handwritten on parchment
that smells faintly of bandages and
a metallic cinnamon
the letter gives the day and hour of your passing
and the ultimate meaning of your life
the cost of all the things you accomplished
and the regrets of all thouse you have loved
the hollow man
is waiting
for each of us
with a letter addressed to each
he is but a delivery boy
for the inevitable

red fragments of plastic litter the
sandy soil at my feet
i gather them with one at a time
while my soul searches for a song to impart
my pen grows strange in my hand
its words have a feel to them
foreign deranged

the phrases float disjointedly
they refuse to knit into a poem
while my mind is troubled by a scattering
of autumn winds
the red fragments arranged randomly
on the small backyard table
sunshine illuminates each with precise clarity
the fragments are my poem
and i shuffle the pieces back and forth
trying with a maddened mind
to knit them into a beautiful bird
but they only keep forming the ugly face distorted
they keep moving of their own accord
to form a jagged edge
i breath and **** at my coffee mug

the red fragments thorny in my head
they have sand clinging to them
and bits of the brackish water that
the nights rain had left for me
these words are incomplete visions
mere phrases like incongruous men walking
random paths in a field
when two meet they shout their ideas
at eachother and part company full of
suspicious glares
a draft of this randomly worded madness
flows from my unwilling pen
the red fragmentation
of the incomplete poem

close to sunset and a chill wind starts
but the light that warms my soul comes from her eyes
enticed out of sleeping memory by
this falling shaft of sunlight in my backyard
as i rake some spilled leaves
a lifetimes of summers memories rushing back to greet
with their own legends their own grand tales
spirit flys like a summer bird
with open wonder at the beauties of a world below
in the clouds where nothing but sunlight can touch
these lifetimes of summers daydreams all bid fare thee well
and one by one lay back to dusty memory
closing eyes to dream once more
of thouse days in childhood
and that moment running out the front door
with the whole world to play in and a whole day to do it
that endless freedom and joy that childhood gave
my life with her is like that
its close to sunset
but the light which i endure by
comes from her heart

the wind embraces her
and sends her embroidered hair
to streaming like wild creatures dancing on spring breeze
she runs her fingertips along my cheek
and with the measured and carefully tender kiss of her smile
she releases me to wander the sunlight
and seek the turns of phrase
seek the true words that entice the day
to its beautiful paths
she leans over to show
and with such seductive pose
she is like a winterbird
warmth wrapped in brilliant plumage

winterbird perched on summer shore
brilliance feather and song so sweet
her voice is like spring come to the soul's heart
warm flow of such tender thought
that even the darkest must surely embrace with joys
winterbird with her embroidery hair loose
to catch sparkles of sunlight on the beads
to catch the beauty of springs day
winterbird come to sing in dreams
some song to devilish delight dance in wild freedoms
by enchanters firelight

winterbird how would you unlock me
with simple gestures you open the heart
with the ease of magics hand you unearth edens gates
and with simple pure girlish giggles
run dancing across timeless meadowland
she is eden breathing
she the the quiet magic that the world spins upon
like a ring of earthy fires in dreamscapes tale

there's a hard silence here
and there is a fresh echo of the dim kitchen light
in the ***** linoleum tiles that zigzag the floor
even the air feels broken as it limps slowly
through the room
i stop near the door upon entering
and gather myself
like a ragman gathering the tattered remains
stitching the fragments of self with the thread of awareness
weave the image of self into the reality of the moment
with the hesitations of someone who has lived this moment too many times'
it will come to naught
she is alive but her heart is dead
the dust on my worn coat is from the graves of my
fallow field where we once laid a crop of hopes
but i cannot abandon her to this barren place

i know i perceive only the narrow sunstricken pages
faded and stained with the words legible only to the hardy eye
but its the deeper tale which
even the gardener of times bloodstained trophy's
would fear to tread
his leather shod hands worry the intricate gears
of the mechanical face she wears
he manipulates it to wear a lopsided grin
pantomime of happiness for my birthday
but i watch the vacant places behind the face and see that
with a blemished mechanical eye she looks out over the oncoming
evening through the livingroom window
its cracked and ***** surface turns
the setting sun into a parody of dawn

she greets me but just stares out the window
as if she is waiting a lovers return
i stand infront of her blankly
we wait for the hours to pass
i fix her tea even though it isn't broken
and make small talk
as she makes mechanical sounds
till she sleeps
i leave with the dawn
and make my way to my own bed at last
to fend off dreams that something somewhere could be different
and wake to the sorrowful song of a passing bard
his thin feet dancing on a moonlight hilltop
meant for lovers only
and he is dancing alone
alone

i do not need to pry open this
lidless box to see what
thrives in its wet spaces
i do not need to sculpt the words that
sink into the dark waters for them
to find their home
nestled in the plans of the plotter
i only have to place the whimsical laughter on the plate of silver
and let the lesser natures take course or the darkness of empty room take its toll

this lidless box with its dire face
painted to be more friendly
but with bright colours gone dull with the passing years
carried through wicked winter storm
and through gentle spring rain
through all the toils of his life

what can it contain she often wondered
so she dare not
but knew she might mourn her sorrowful choice

could she spin up a misers coin from such a lidless box
and spend it on lush accommodation
with the finest wine
and the hostess with the forever smile
but the pavement under her feet
still feels cold to her soul
so she fears to take such a path

secure in such troubled thoughts
i know the lidless box will be safe
to the end of days
because no-one dare think beyond the consequence
its wet spaces and its dire faces
to the misers coin contained within

utter the truth only in whispers
is what she wrote in small letters on the wall
and each morning she would pass the spot it was written
and would run her fingers gently over them
and she would say his name is a passionate voice
full of heat and longing
like the miles and years could just be wiped away
if she had enough courage
if she wished hard enough

he stood in the rushing rain
his long grey coat blended him into the background
his placard was written some phrase
meant to catch the eye
but not a single face paused in the busy street
it would have taken only a word from him
and they would have all stopped in their tracks
and enthralled they would seen...
but nothing would ever come of it he knew
he knew that someday he would have to pay for what he done
it was only a matter of time
time

the monk grinding his eye
against the hard truth of his thread bare life
the world teaches to take your rest with the moons tides
the world teaches to mix your loves with the wines of fortune
but the monk dances in the middle of summer night
to the weary horses delight
he sees a bright jewel in the eye
that others consider naught but a bauble
but the monk knows a smile is worth a thousand golden chariots
and will lift you higher

all of us on these ***** streets
the noble and the strange
stand and look at the rising tide of light
and marvel at the crisp colours
and wondrous visions
of dawns light
even the most hardened of souls
can still see beauty
even if they can find nothing in it
the monk turns away
and limps slowly back into the shadows

her ashen eyes hypnotize
the crisp summer wind catches me
i am not stirred from my place at her side
deep in thought she twirls a braid of her hair
and i watch her warm emotions
flowin easy like daylight on her
lovely features

the day romances its reasons
but finally bows to evening tides and begins to retire
with the flourish of a well mannered man of leasuire

the day walks with the sundown by the seaside town
hand in hand and window shop
the little shops full of sparkling wonders
and rich with old sea tales and lore
finally daylight leaves us on the the sand with evening stars
greeting each of us with brilliant words spoken to the eyes
the night long with its thoughts shared between lovers
and there she cupped me in her gentle smile

i knew that kind of love once again
that a woman gives of her secret heart
  like a summer rain
soft in touch and swift
deep with history's yet to be written
and rich with loves yet to be sung
and there once again she caressed my cheek
with tenderest touch and reassured
that all swift summer days contain such equal long nights
and she would not sway from her place
by my side