thunder separates silence,

another moment appears

freeing a dream from sleep…

(sometimes, do you hear your Death, tapping?)

we planted trees and sandbagged along the River,

envisioned other seasons

extensions to our unanswered questions…

(sometimes, do you see the long fingers of Rain, flooding?)

in your Pretzel Arch City,

rhythm bathes you,

cleanses every pore,

sets you to jumpin ghosts inside nighttime brokebrick alleyways,

sweltering mornings walking along muddy Mississippi banks

hungering for more visionary skies…

you, a reckoning note floating inside a bottle,

Kaloo, your shotgun sidekick, chasing his rabbits

yes, always you, a poem your parents published,

broadcasting on all frequencies

in your BlueCity

City of Rivers

RiverCity,

you are a Lamplighter, Gaslight.

your moves are the breath drawn

each time the lights flicker down Laclede Ave…

the Goodlife

(we forget the wars),

the Beatificlife

(we drain the cups clean),

the Agelesslife

(we emit spinning lines of immortality)

thunder separates silence

another moment appears

here, where your seeds will never dry,

here, where this BlueRiverBrokebrickCity is a misted mirror resonating from your eyes,

here, where each drop of Rain is the Mother of All Rivers

1:55 AM

Feb 4, 1980

Bisbee, Az