Sun, flaming mouth of guitar,
with some cirrus clouds trailing
across your lively face –
I run to you, aubade of my day.
You spread your arms toward me
poet panting in the early morning.
To my left runs the river
companion chanting waves of rapid dream.
And the little-used rails pass,
pass once more – parallel hymns
streaked with oxide of light and shadow.
The trees try to hold me back
with their oh so lithe bodies
offering their sex in flowers
to any transient wind.
They cannot, they cannot grab me
so preoccupied are they
with their filigreed task.
Upon me fall two small petals
kidnapped by a wicked wind.
And the earth! How the earth trembles
with the hunger to inter me!
But you do not let that befall me
my sun of unbridled guitar
while toward yourself still you draw me –
me with feet of verse and clay.
* * *
© Gregory V Driscoll 2013