I close all my eyes and all my minds: Autumn to Winter: and Winter to Spring: where has time gone? I remember Summer who passed away: a lifetime ago today.
Golden ram on golden cup: and printed words on soft books like water: flowed and flawed with human flaws.
I take the longer way home tonight: and the sky blooms red and gold and pink: and I remember other days like these: other circumstances: other silences.
The river is red and rushing and wild with eyes like the passive storm: the river goes its own hurtful way: I leave the river behind.
This is the art of saying hello: the art of coming together and staying there: the byways and sidesteps of socialism and contempt.
A hundred different faces we have: one for each day of the week: and for different people besides.
Today is Thursday-face: all blue and green and gold. But quiet, like a secret. Steady, like the sun.
And Father-face is heart-red, and Old-man-by-the-road-face is lightest, lightest coral. Like the dawn.
And I can tell you now, my strict and lovely confidante, that Friday-face will be as beautiful as all the stars in all the skies of the nights of our summer dreams.
The piper pipes a lonesome tune: to the sound of the water on the beach: soon we shall all go home.
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