as people come
into my game
it becomes their game
along with all the baggage
that they carry

but it really is
only a shared moment
a temporal unowned event
an ephemeral collective experience
not to be taken seriously

my game is then
only what I bring to it
a performance
in that moment
best played
with energy
with authenticity
with serendipity

the merry chase
is not a waste
if love and passion
are to your taste
the gifts you gave
are now shared
and I am now
to be compared
we went to places
now special and ours
they are sacred
in memory bowers
we freed each other
making love more true
especially when it
doesn't own you

I never got to love the girl
she spreads wide her rainbow net
where the sky plunges on crystal river
tides swell to hide her shame
ebb to fill her bag of catch

I never got to love the girl
her hairs in the wind
my dreams spawn
a flower rising from the riverbed
she grants a love in my head
spreads wide her rainbow net
thru the long night of blue moonshine
her frock fills up with sparkling life

I never got to love the girl
could no way be the right match.

The old man mumbles in a dying voice
had my sons been alive.

A tear wells in the daughter's eyes.

She pours a spoon of water in his mouth
and wipes his lips and her eyes.

Having lit the pyre of his three sons
he was willing to barter his daughter's life
if that made God grant him another son
and here is the daughter by his bedside
feeding, cleaning and even shaving him
her only prayer to God being to save his life
bartering her entire means.

Outside the thunder cracks the sky
and she spreads a tarpaulin over the bed.

my son laments the father.

Inside her is no cover for rain.