The Hot Place

 

Open at one end and under the other
Faith stares out her window
Shivering at the slow sound of drum
Tambourine twisted mellow
Speak O child of evening tradition
Hold vast the ocean of wonder
Bathe in the moonwater of soul in diction
And kiss the heart of mystery
Deepest beamglow she pounds the pommel
Accepting sword of math lacking reason
Push inside your depth of aeons
Cricket brass lanterns doth love thee so
Trailing hair windblown with ribbons
Silver in ears beats the color of weaving
Horse hair mane of sweet smelling fire
Popping twigs form circled grey skies
Orange of ember and satin lined branches
Nervous air of tea soaked masquerade
Call to the wooden hard salty head sleeping
And shake to awaken exceptional sensation
Morning pinks cool with tinges of blue
Midnight glows with purple edged longing
Keeper of torches and master of calling
Lingering softly tents striped gold anew

 


Oct. 30, 2002