The miles pass by
so slowly. Just go faster, I think.
Though speedometer reads 77, I push on
through blue-black night,
drawn to bright center star in strong
Orion’s belt this eve. Familiar
feeling: as if all time is
standing still.
Crescent moon reminds
me of another strange, starlit night:
calendar read December 1977.
Odd, knowing, but
not knowing why, I’d already
fallen for love. I: the shooting star
who missed you by a decade
and a year.
Hearts of Gold
Synopsis
by
Frank P. Whyte
Portland, Oregon is known as the City of Roses. Of course that’s an odd name for a city whose mere mention conjures images of driving winds and torrential ra
The deep-dive literary meditations presented as stories, poems, and essays in The American Poet Who Went Home Again, A Mosaic of My Soul at Work, have captivated and inspired readers ever since its first paperback publication in 2008.
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