What is there to say?
The last time
we met on the street
you showed surprise my hair
had turned gray,
although you were kind enough
to quickly hide it.
Our greeting was too brief;
you were still angry,
I had so many regrets.
I was 24 years old,
a topless dancer on Walker Street.
I wanted to perform with Martha Graham.
Instead of telling you I was a student,
I told you my dream.
You tipped generously
and asked for a private dance.
I wore my red coat to your loft
and fell in bed
after you rubbed my back.
I remember tripping in
kaleidoscope colors of
sea and fish and coral rocks
as we made love
still wet from the Caribbean sea.
Pale silver sky
I tightly hug
Rise from Baltimore’s land, swinging south, the harbor lies cushioned by skyscrapers. Fluffy clouds in pale azure sky turning gold and rose. The moon a companion, rising directly next to my window, nearly full, cold pale light. Sail across land, the necklace of the Bay Bridge below and then..we are floating over ocean…there is nothing below us but clouds that we might drift down and straight down into the depths of the sea, inhabited by stage monsters, florescent and spiky or amorphous with a myriad of tentacles and we will sink and because I am with the magical pale Vikings we will drown but live forever frozen on the sea’s rocky floor.
gaia mouse 