Like water running, strange requiem
things I can't recall, though deep in soul feel
these skies, these burning lives
we are wild in the fields
only a sun, a storm, the rain
passing by.

In the trees, through the leaves came crescent shadows
tiny silhouetted scooped moons upon the ground
without sound, black the round disappearing sun
in ways it came highlighting the shining of souls
and felt around the globe, shined like gold, like silver
like our shimmering days of lakes wet in rain forest waters
you and I on a path coming together, moving further and further
traveling through woods and smokes, traveling home
with a head full of smoke and eyes that cannot see me
my love I am truly in the fire.

I think it quite strange living here walled by this house
when I was wilder than now I lived in nature
stalking birds and pollen laden things
always my toes in sands or hot footed in summer.
I was in love with the sky, no matter the weather
in storms I hid beneath branching cedars
sleeping on mossy pillows, in the woods of my backyard.
I never gave much thought to houses then, I only went there
to sleep or eat and waited to leave again
waited for an inkling of sun to warm the cold grass
spent days climbing trees, red plums and cherries
I imagined that's how life would always be,
living outdoors under the sun or clouds
wet with rain, always picking flowers.

Ilion Gray, such a cool name
I love the name Ilion - Ilion Gray
I wonder is it his real name
it looks like it could be, his name
though I've never known an Ilion
never read poems by any other Ilion's
his name fits perfect, his poems, exquisite
and today I see him posted on the front page
a prince of words, a master, a sage
I think he lives in NY, probably downtown
I bet it's loud, I love the way he writes like that
I wonder what kinds of things he does, in summer
or winter, I know he has a cap, but does he have coat and gloves
I wonder how many times, he fell drunk in love
he probably reads poetry on a stage, a pastiche word parade
a lyrical brigade, loaded and fired, finishing with a bow
yeah, I bet Ilion is writing a killer poem right now

...........run long...
... seeming to end at one point,
........yet, in truth, they just go on
.............for, currents are ceaseless
.................they find their own paths
......................they symbolize continuity.
...........................r i v e r s .....r u n...l o n g....


(Harlon Rivers....you are your name)


Sally

Copyright August 30, 2017
rrab