Remembrance . . . . 196?

by bookindian



Three times
into the tense dawn
I rode . . .

And three times the sky erupted
In a rainbow shower
Of crystal spiderwebs . . .

. . . dragging me
In a harlequin dance

On puppet strings
of sound.


A red rose
your hypnotic pose

The wind blows
and blows . . .

Here is nothing left,
no greatness to be won,
everything is left up
to the thieves . . . now.


Entrenched in a wine cast spell
I stand on this hill . . .

with just a wish:

to hear the wind
through my hair,
stirring at my feet,

In all its
naked splendor

down the canyons,
across the land . . .



These were composed after a year-long in sojourn in Santa Fe New Mexico, and 6 months in San Francisco . . . there was another similar book, but it was given to a muse about 1984.