Sunset Sirrah

A pelican dips and rides currents unseen,

Poetry is just the words,

Sound makes for portraits,

Yet to be gleaned,

I am waiting for the moon to bloom,

And the words, those quiet doors (room for the inbetween) to the soul’s rapports.

Eating a metronome ice cream cone.

Coming home,

For the slow devour.

A lifetime of devotion,

Built on one notion,

That love is the healing kind,

That love offers a mind when the whole world’s gone blind.

This is to words that soften and soothe,

To pictorial fragments and fragrance,

To bringing back the dance,

Of eternal circumstance.

Will you remember the gallons of oil?

Or the days spent tending to the soil?

Earthen underfoot,

Herculean loft to put

The days,

Given fully and fruitfully.

To the electric mic sampler,

Midnight galactic meander,

Where thoughts go to roam.

This is the light-weight long tank,

The way it goes before its gone.

The moments between two longs,

The softer tempest

In that ever storm.