In The North Star

White stars and buttercups
soft flow, liquid fire
without
within
above
below
reflections of a happier world
intransient dreams
the world in which I have lived
breathed
known
a place I like to go.

Hear soft music shimmer
the gold light glimmers
on our directors
a shadow trembles
on my notebook where we are
writing this poem together.

Vessels display liquid gems
bottled dreams for the inebriated
until they run dry
or the master waves good-bye.

Here emotions vibrate on lips
dance, rest
then flow in streams of music
into a common river.

Here on Tuesdays we come
To say hello
To pour our own
And drink from our
Common river.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
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