Well it looks like life
has run out of trees for you
this walk through the world,
little buddy.

You were so very good
all the days of your life...
such an open heart;
mine is breaking.

This walk;
our last one together,
I will carry you
though I do not know the way.

There is sorrow
at the heart of the world,
beautiful and precious.
Rooted in transience,
it whispers why... why...
now slipping by.

There is darkness
in the soul of man,
cold, cruel and blind.
Rooted in fear,
it whispers lies and shadows
ignoring the heart.

There is light
at the root of all things,
brilliant, radiant and true.
Centered in love,
it shouts out now...
now is all there is.

I love the light of winter days...
shadows are never so crisp,
and the sunlight... sharp and relentless
refuses to warm.

The year ends
with one last sigh,
a glance away
and its gone.

Your smile
was the calm eye,
in the storm of our life
together.

Poetry has no
****** preference.
It will love you like a woman,
and take you like a man...
it will milk you dry,
make you cry, sigh, laugh and scream.
When its done,
you will never be the same...
more open, more alive
more fully human,
accepting your ravishing
by words.

Low lights, harsh light...
air thick with smoke,
alcohol, perfume
sweat and the scent of ***.
Some guy on a saxophone
wails the blues, baring his soul.
A snare drum,  a piano
a bass keeping time.
Written at midnight
with breath and a backbeat...
what it means to be alive...
Do you need more?
Smokey Jazz.