Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Poem: Homage


Dream like a fulcrum, lift, conquer.
I would sing the comets in your eyes.

Running the length of the
switchgrass, cattle coyotes in your wake.

Rolling, braying,
hail-good-fellow till night’s end.

Morning delivers mimosas,
parasol table, end of the pier,
skin that smells like acacia.

Dolphin gets the order and
limbers upward, bursting the
ceiling, a watered arc that
webs the sunrise.

Play it back and you
find the rivulets spelling
out your name.

Your secretary writes a
thank-you note, pins it to
a sardine, drops it in the bay.

From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV

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