DUST

Here is dust remembers it was a rose
            one time and lay in a woman's hair.
| Here is dust remembers it was a woman
one time and in her hair lay a rose.

Oh things one time dust, what else now is it
         you dream and remember of old days?

SOLO FOR SATURDAY NIGHT GUITAR

Time was. Time is. Time shall be.
Man invented time to be used,
Love was. Love is. Love shall be.
Yet man never invented love
Nor is love to be used like time.
A clock wears numbers one to twelve
And you look and read its face
And tell the time pre-cise-ly ex-act-ly.
Yet who reads the face of love?
Who tells love numbers pre-cise-ly ex-act-ly?
Holding love in a tight hold for keeps,
Fastening love down and saying
"It's here now and here for always."
You don't do this offhand, careless-like.

Love costs. Love is not so easy
Nor is the shimmering of star dust
Nor the smooth flow of new blossoms
Nor the drag of a heavy hungering for someone.

            Love is a white horse you ride
            or wheels and hammers leaving you lonely
            or a rock in the moonlight for rest
            or a sea where phantom ships cross al-ways
            or a tall shadow always whispering
            or a circle of spray and prisms–
            maybe a rainbow round your shoulder.

                        Heavy heavy is love to carry
                        and light as one rose petal,
                        light as a bubble, a blossom,
                        a remembering bar of music
                        or a finger or a wisp of hair
                        never forgotten.

SUMMER GRASS

Summer grass aches and whispers.
It wants something; it calls and sings; it pours
out wishes to the overhead stars.
The rain hears; the rain answers; the rain is slow
coming; the rain wets the face of the grass.