thunder separates silence

another moment dawns

freeing dreams from sleep…

(sometimes do you hear Death, tapping?)

we planted trees

sandbagging along the River

envisioning further seasons

extending our unanswered questions…

(sometimes do you see Fingers of Rain, flooding?)

in your Pretzel Arch City

rhythm bathes you           cleansing every pore,

sweltering mornings                    along muddy Mississippi banks,

jumpin ghosts inside 2 am brokebrick alleyways

hungering for more intoxicating visions

you, a reckoning note                   floating inside a bottle,

Kaloo, your shotgun sidekick                  hounding his rabbits

you are the poem your parents published

broadcasting on all frequencies

in your BlueCity

City of Rivers

RiverCity,

you are a hip Lamplighter, candlelight,

drawing breaths

with each flickering streetlight

down Laclede Avenue

the Goodlife

(we forget wars),

the Beatificlife

(we drain cups clean),

the Agelesslife

(we emit spinning lines of immortality)

thunder separates silence

as another moment appears

here, where your seeds will never dry,

here, where this BlueRiverBrokebrickCity

resonates from your eyes:

mystical misted mirrors they are

yes, your City,

this City,

where each raindrop

is Mother to all your Rivers

1:55 AM

Feb 4, 1980

Bisbee, Az