I can not find the letter mother left me four days
before her death. I read it once and then placed

it in a cardboard box like you might a dull
knife or a ******* tin. The letter is

a part me, like Van Gogh’s severed
ear was to him. I want the letter

like love or sight; the way bone
                               needs marrow.

I do not know what become of
Frank’s biological right leg,

whether it was severed
and incinerated or he

was born with only one
and crutch bound until

fitted with his first
artificial leg.

I  do understand the look on
on his face after he unlocks

the prosthetic from his
femur and massages

the foot pain on
his stump.

she gathered a smile
so beautifully,
so absorbingly,
so effortlessly, painted;
like the modern Monalisa
reinvented.
And for a blooming while-
I felt time suffocating
on my laps;
Whilst my hopes
of us
ran down the slopes
of lust
and burst
into a dawning flame
again-
like the first
time
my lips, hugged
hers.

An eagle the bird of prey
Clawed at the ground
taking me back to the river
where the tide stroked  

An eagle the bird of prey
A ghost of lost faces
showing me the essence
where the love started

An eagle the bird of prey
A weaver of the world
spinning me on the orbit
where the whispers tickled

An eagle the bird of prey
A slur of the speech
talking to me in tongues
where time is out of hand

An eagle the bird of prey
The darkness that stones
showing me the gloom
where aloofness is an ally

An eagle the bird of prey
A companion of my soul
following me when I fall
Inside the pearl of a teardrop

An eagle the bird of prey
A draft of echoey words
writing with me as I type
the muse of fruity letters

You age like wine
but you are mine
Young and old

I age like milk
but I am fine
A clever fool

You age like wine
blessed and saved
loved and wanted

I age like milk
brave and alive
strong and sure

You age like wine
sweet and immature
naive and suave  

I age like milk
pretty and patient
loaded and free