Starnbergersee
and Eliot telling me
that Marie was
family
and I believed him because
he was a prophet and poet.

Didn't know it then that some men
are born to be and others
only born
like the winds that blow over the
Starnbergersee
constantly.

Time had changed him though and he
became old and slow, Marie too got
older in the face,

changed and ripened
like fruit  in the marketplace.

Time in its time becomes the
infinite stupidity of the
apocryphal rhyme,
a line to live by or
die for.


I still look for the sled in the snow
knowing I'll never see it.