Remembering a Valentine sent to me by a poet from India,1989
You meet the moment with your solace thought.
Your fingers sketch a gray house far away.
Its window lights are warming cool resolve.
I think and know that we are almost home.
They tell me that a red bird has no soul
And yet I choose it for my metaphor.
Its spirit skims above half-frozen roads.
One hand is clapping for the death
Monday, February 13, 2006