Wednesday, April 06, 2011

Wild horses

Wild horses,

A phrase in my mind from
The beginning of time and
Patti Smith’s, a poet of song
And her own good time,
Her words unwinding
With clock and crucifix,
Images layering into
Of each little gift,
A ruby pendant,
A cotton shift,
The blue start of friendship
That never ends.
Dialogue on stage,
Identities forging
Into new days as nights
Pass and growth begins,
Like new beard on a young chin.
Love roots,
Passions rise and move
Like clouds through an endless sky,
Always creating,
Urging on, image after image.
Until death’s door a window, the weak
Hand still strong, loyal
To a love of life and holding on.

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