Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

One Green Step

Great stone stairs
long and wide
winding down
far and sweeping

the earth grows wild

and ragged

on the edge

of heavy darkness

She leads
he follows
her fruit
the small of her back
the fullness of her hips
a brown skirt
thick in soft
hard in smooth

Her midnite coat
comes to there
no further

Her steps deliberate
click clack
upon the stone
grace in rhythm
nothing hurried
a language all it's own

He steps silent

in tribute

A gardener near the wall

shifting eyes

busy in nothingness

not acknowledged

merely to decorate

Her steps slow slightly
the syllables changing
the gardener twitches

She stops
he stops
time stops

An arm of silk lace
from beneath the shawl
nails touch the palm
a finger points down
the gardener looks away


The vapor follows the word
thick, sweet, hers
and drifts to his face

A step forward
and down
shadowed in her power
secure in her strength

And he paints
one step


Pitted and weather worn
scarred and honoured
painter and canvas

When finished
a slow glance upward
time measures the depth of her return
one sword upon another

Blades cannot cross
as one
but surrender is willing

He rises
her silent echo
as before
down the stone
click clack

The gardener stood
as the painter bowed

is he now servant to the gardener

Had she pointed there
the gardener would have
trembled in dispatch
knowing his place as well

What has she gained?
what she already had

And his gain?
what she already had

An agreement
perfect in settlement
consummated in device

Why green?
She knows

Might she not have stopped

Might he have refused?

Does the gardener know?
he thinks

Will he tell?
the power is in the keeping
the whoring in the telling

All whores have a price
and knowledge an author

Click clack
click clack

Is it bridge?


To where?

Click clack

Click clack