…they had rhythm
good style
restless feet, souls on fire;

and I dream of no desire
empty hands with fingers feathers
gift of giving
easy, slender, passion, burning
I recall the rains hot
on my knees at the closed doors
temple of stone, house of my Lord
“Let her be filled… with joy”
a walk in the park
yelled at the dark
I noticed The Star
purple one,
so far
not a figment: a part
of my poor heavy twisted heart…

and then I wrote days
and drank hours and bathed in light
so someday I might
draw her a kite
and run and run and run
to the beginning of time
once more
each step of the way,
again and again
I thank you each day
for the hurt and the joy
that made me whole
forged in stone
a giant of sorts…