It's time to write another song, he thinks.
One that's tender, one that's long.
No longer what he once was.
A changed man.
He sends karma, circles, infinite love, pretty little things.
Generous, grounded, happy, sometimes sad, magnanimous.
Reminds me of a king in all places.
I hope he finds his queen, someone who deserves him.
I listen to his songs and wonder.
Perhaps just as he did reading my poems.
I wonder what is or is not about me.
He's a musician and a writer of songs.
Kindness in the face of insanity.
Clowning around, always clowning around.
There's a wooden box on his wooden table and inside the box there's an Eisenhower coin.
There used to be one capsule, but we split it up, it's gone now.
His bed looks like an enormous sleigh.
And the cement mixing plant starts humming loudly again.
I remember us twining around each other.
Lost in the sheets.