Your wheel has spun round
and reached the apex,
the end
 of one season

ushers in the next.

I remember each time
you put on new shoes
to walk roads untrammeled
when the old you outgrew.

The luthier had strung you
a special guitar
hewn from a tree
grown 'neath the Pole Star.

Working your mojo
swift wit and sweet smile
raised dust with your feet
and Cain with your guile.

At night I still hear
your voice in my sleep
magicking then making
unblemished clouds weep.

Monarch butterflies
burned off their wings
drawn to the flames
when they heard you sing.

To the door of your chapel
virgins came round
hymens and foreskins
clustered the ground.

Will you pass by again?
Near the cohiba field
where we lit up the night
and drank till we reeled?

Then crashed on a bench
near the big house of stars
I cried while you slept
you woke feeling starved

The bench is long gone
The house is torn down
I still walk there often
though you're not around.

Don't know where you are
but I'm sure that you'll be
pursuing and loving
a woman or three.

You're destined to find
what it is that you seek;
keep following rainbows
near the loneliest creeks.

They'll lead you to places
you know you belong,
where your life will be written
and told in a song.