a love poem
             (for d.a.)

          as these lines 
   		    go down
      a friend  (the word fails)
   	        dies a little
      last night    gathered
            there    his place
      a few of us
          unable to tell him
               what is done
      during the waiting hours

   	      talking getting nowhere
      nowhere as he died
	         a lot
		      last night
           my hand filled with words
      that my mouth lost
	         him starving
              one less painting
          as we fitted it into the back seat

            him talking all day night
           day this evening still wide eyed talking
      love face body strangling on broken way
               and us    me one of the closest
		            even less able

      now the ivy blows in the wind
      across the city pacing talking to himself
               a friend with brush and pen
               listens to the same wind
            and the notes
	      we play together

			- Kent Taylor6/5/66 
			appeared in 











Copyright © 1966 and 2001 by Kent Taylor

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