for Dylan Thomas
 
 

empty wine bottle candle holder

fills with remnants of un-burned

wax replacing conversations

a steady flame of no sustenance

she runs her finger through

fast  --   then   --   slow

"Stay too long," the candle replies, 

"if you --  are looking --  for pain."
 
 

Dylan with his green sap flowing

trembles green fragility

transforms his own walking wounds

veritable energy - keys flashing

a river gushing forth

carrying branches and stones

that would delay on some unchosen shore
 
 

finding the quiet space of her little child

she remembers hand holding

5 year old Butch's waiting for the school bus

she felt missed, and loved

to young to go herself
 
 

hands squeeze to give themselves comfort

hands hold, walking with another

hands fold in front of lips

hands fold in front of heart
 
 

she remembers another's hands

wide hands held in nonviolence

clean nails of respect

thick hands of using

tools of consciousness
 
 

hands with fingers splayed then interlocking

hand on hand to hold one's thoughts and feelings

hands hold balance in the turning turning
 
 
 

she thinks of him and holds herself and sways

a bluer light flashes in the evening sky

then climbs

south by east and out of sight
 
 

tips of fingers make tiny circles on letters

keyboard isometric exercising

tiny circles moving left then right

together and opposite
 
 

from the galaxy he asks,

"Whose turn is it to bring the roses,

whose to bring the bread?"
 
 

rolling a bugler cigarette

she remembers counting only two

stray thoughts of "I wish He didn't..."

sifting through her own "I wish I didn't..."
 
 

he begs forgiveness in departure

she understands

these times they are tugging pulling

having dulled so many senses

form of direction requires understanding
 
 

she dreams of a bear doing a water ballet

with her

pure joy of body alive -- pulsing
 
 
 

holding a humming bird in the palm of one's hand

is the candle light one does not crush

dares not crush
 
 

hands hold head too heavy now

rustling tobacco paper, idle computer humming

it is the green sap rising

urgently

seeking 

home
 

- Summer Music
 

to Summer  .  to Moongate