People were dying
into a poetic state. Disturbed
sensitive poet sad to live, not
able to know joy, life, magic, dying
to live and love in the world
of adventure, eroticism, travel,
ecstasy. His magic wavered,
flickered, paled, and sank. I can
laugh, sing, older and more cynical.
Stories told, talking enchantingly
of words and poetry, leaning over me
when I was a child, observing
with passionate eyes. Guide
my life, judge it, balance it, sweet
God, conscience, absolver, priest, sage.
Free me of guilt and fear.