doors of an epilogue
close,
dive,
fly open,
emitting the frank observer,
the quiet one
and gentle swinger
busy sniffing bittersweet incensed air
floating from circus carnival free-spin wheels
where the price of admission is loneliness
frozen gate of an epilogue
buried,
deep,
hidden Northcountry,
far from searching Lake blasts,
from lonely distant loon crying nighttimes
lingering alive,
remaining part of the path
destined for some misted wanderer
still chasing colors,
whether the longtime hues of this vibrant world
or
life's Black and White Reflections
7/3/73