In pace with our various disciplines
We walk over cracking tile
Pretending it is
just more ice...

Black bees angle for the sharp taste
Of esoteric flowers,  their honey
Pungent...
As the smell of

midnight

Reading from borrowers
Their books bought
And paid for
I make my
Own
Analysis

And look no longer
For my forgotten

Dream.

Solaces from memory of things
Done badly, the light pierces
Down... silver light laces

The green.

The heart repairs itself
And then is fractured
Once again. ..
By looking
Too long
At the

Moon.

Towers of stone grow over living flesh
But then disolve in rot...
Never to mark

its

passing
.
.
.

Soul Survivor
2002