To be published in April '04 issue of THIS HARD WIND

Should a Summer 'Frisco fog roll in
obscuring the clarion skies in murk
or a Denver frost settle, heavy from the west
and I should pen my oppression, know
it is not for your eye my skies weep
Would that I could articulate the passage
of time in a cold November frost
It would not be for your heart alone
Supposing the spring waxes gaiety,
flittered and fluxing in Vermont's dayspring;
were it to drive my pen through here to unseen reaches
it would not speak of our history, nor causes lost
Where once I carried mountains for you,
and shrugged like Hercules awaiting Hesperides fruit,
I yet knew the burden you asked was too great
for even my strength was sapped by the vicious tooth
of some venomous thing amidst leaves of grass
so now every testament is to the Omnipotent 'I am'