Skin the color
Of freshly roasted
Chestnuts or of
Recently ground espresso
Beans or of
Newly varnished hickory
Or of rolled
And aged tobacco
Eyes as black
As black jellybeans
As deep dark
As moonless nights
And lips soft
Like tulip petals
This is you
You to me
Sky rain plump
Saturated clouds like
Sudsy sponges bob
About above me
Saul is tucked
Behind like hands
In gray ovenmitts
All is still
As though everything
Waits for the
Bad news of
The day this
Reminds me of
The soggy days
Of San Francisco
The worst part
In life is
Realizing in life
Those that love
You know better
Than you but
Let you hang
Yourself simply because
They love you
That is a
Tremendous gift this
Turning a blind
Eye to your
Own personal destruction
And there spying
I did see
Out there and
Far away a
Dot a smudge
A blemish on
The looking glass
High on cliffs
I did see
Something far off
And different not
An island or
Land but something
And that something
Gave me hope
Not for me
But for it
Because I knew
Where I was
Precisely exactly where
And certainly it
Was looking sailing
Searching for me
The sky glows
A dull yellow
Like a far
Off lamp in
A distant home
At the end
Of a wooded
Lane welcoming me
Darkened trees hang
Like spooky goblins
As the cars
Tires kick up
Dusty ghosts that
Disappear among junipers
Dawns single bonfire
Slowly emerges golden
Like a pocket
Watch drawn from
The woolen clouds
And distant bungalow
Windows wink with
Brief lamp light
As neighbors move
About in them
This is morning
