Where are you now? With the audience silenced. Can you return? Can I find you? The critics miss Your beautiful voice speaking, drawing visions Of life and time, of vision and hope, a woman in yellow. Her hat as is held in place by a hand, a pin, A ribbon. Slipping on and off the bus. I miss you with the audience gone. Quiet air. Friends are far apart these days, Imaginary, real, internet friends, have life. All kept apart by electrons rotating, holding hands Turning in waltz time, 3/4 time, one, two, three Heard beyond time as planets revolve blending with each other Cosmos tracking galaxies, so the revolution Relies on you, a woman scorned, no, not you. You, a writer, spectator, talent, rider of buses But someone said, and someone did. Hurting, You left us, all alone, missing the train you Put before us to ride, taught to negotiate with our souls. I call you as your grandmother might, cheerfully Near the clothes line, over a fence, worried At tea with a friend. Where are you now? Traveling back and forth, seeing a desert, A plain, a woods. The Cat seeking your hand purrs. Comfort from warm sunny days on the porch swing. I read them over and over, your words, hoping that I'll see A sign of life, a breath, star dust, your smile. Are you coming back? Be brave. Words are only words. But they live for us, grow as infants, loved, Even when they scold, they love. Eyes smile, arms hug, Don't leave, don't run away, by bus, train.
A marching band, that Is where I spent the happy Hours of growing up. Finding the after beats, Honking on a horn of silver. Marching in Minnesota, California, Oregon, Las Vegas, all over Alaska, Maryland and Pennsylvania. I loved to march Watching those with battered Lips, lick them in quick attacks by the tongue Which would really rest On a concert stage with Carol Channing. Loved the changes in season And when we marched in the Chinese New Year's parade In San Francisco, and the Tuba players had firecrackers Tossed in the bell to Drive the evil spirits Of military service out. We marched at openings, Closings, and when we stood still, the world cheered. I loved to march wearing Orange and black, Green over green, Left foot, right foot, Straw foot, hay foot, Angles and diagonals Squares of precision. I always thought that The band would hold together Over time. But they marched Away, each to their own pace. I'm a victim of moonlit hair That pretends to color, Looking at the stars In a cold March night, And dreaming of the cadence Of drums, beating and beating And bb ee aa t i n g g g g As they march out of sight and sound Disappearing into time. I dream of marching into the stars Lit for all times If you would just look up. Can you hear the tune? The brass, woodwinds, And the percussive beat Of living a life. Percussion leading me In living every day With the guidance of The drum major pounding In my ears. Boom bah boom Bah, Boom. Then we rest.