Posts
Alliteration
Toe steps strut on stage
Or show horse trots:
Sure sharp a signage
of grace in beholden catch
In the Tropics
The sun here bakes us brown
whose blaze may bald our crown
A Scent Remembered
From nowhere it brings you here,
the past that brooks no future.
What was it that we lost, my dear?
What bond, what magic, what allure?
Whose words these are
I think I know -- even as
his poems come and go:
it's that voice no other has
it's that soul that seeks me so
