There is a soul who knows
only black and white
in a world of important shadows.

He is there fording the driveway,
He is waiting for trees to cross.

He sees birth in the touch of clouds,
He goes his own way
and none can follow
until they shed their colors
and walk without marks
on the highway of grass.

If you see him at the bus station
or in a back alley in your dream,
give him a moment, lend him an ear --
He will turn around and smile
like an opening gate.

=== END ===

written 4/2/92

published by THE SYNDICATED WEEKLY (Web, 6/95)

updated 9/8/03