What could I give the stars
The diligent ones
That peek through the thicket 
And sometimes seek me from within 
Lest all I’d see is the film of clouds 

Would they want my voice 
Lighting the way
Guiding the underground
Calling on the sleepless
To look, to sing
Then reach and walk


Pretender, who are you
Why do you wear white at night 
Is it true, as they have said
That you should not exist

What trouble brings your heart to act
Where others will not tread 
Here upon this storied way
Are you glad to guide me

Silk Trek

Who longs, as the finest silk ought

To leave go all the soft-touch

To join the rugged from the far-reaches of the closet

To assume the trudge daily through crystal-cold streams 

A bandera, of sorts

Rambling top speed, East to West, then Eastward again, down an unattended-to thoroughfare

The most subtle of beacons guiding the eager to new heights

Then, after God-willed extra innings

To be the edges of the seat, rounding third wide, photo finish, face first slide into home