Man in a White Hat

Our lives

seeds in maracas, tapping...

 

Aged eyes, crinkled skin, black

man in a white hat, I

saw you helping the shrunken white zinnia, I saw you in

the library, I saw you again walking by;

 

when you said "hi" I felt nervous though I'd already smiled

that mouthless smile of glass girls five feet tall,

wallets uncasually guarded, black

man in a white hat coming from somewhere, feet leading, eyes watchful,

 

looking classy in that white hat.

The Eternal Stranger

Dawn-bringer, bearer-of-morning-light, his
Cytherean masculinity thirty million miles away
is echoed here
in the undercurrent of doubt,
in the questioning of love,
in what distances you from me...

And this poem could never get nowhere
because neither of us really believe
in that neverending quarrel between good and evil.

Dawn-bringer.
Maybe after all
both sides are bright.

In different light.