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Nov 2016
One fleeting glance
(I, in the dirt
and you, levitating)
And there, for a moment,
I basked!

In your ceaseless blaze.
Your "Light of Love,"
(as the idiots
have termed it)

Just a passing look
(in November, glossed-over)
is enough, even to say
"You are undeserving"
which is true.

So another man bathes
in your celestial beam
(which is the dawn and the twilight
and the hot, red, glow of volcanic burst
before the ash
comes down)

And he twirls and sings
and dances with joy:
"Oh, the Light of Love!
the Light of Love!
The neverending
Light of Love!"
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