Love: 1968 to Present

They had fire engines at the High School

We watched distant smoke rise from the shaggy lamps

Of the hills.  The fires never reached us

For all we knew, they could have been the language

Of distant Indians, or the pyrotechnic opera

Of disillusioned youth.



Just this way on the roof of my self

Have I waited for a woman:

Hair unfurled like combustions

Climbing of hills;

the deep red lips

Purporting fire

Never coming…