Of Love's eyes I write to from distant
Reaches. Listing reaches, leslied reaches.
My half arm day failures, this sad inkling.
Done along some old song, coming upon
Memory, a sound, a scene, a scent, a
Smile fading and imagination
Furthers from a radio to these flesh-
Become-words, bearing highlights of despair.
Despair that my heart leads me places where
Like Gertrudian Oakland, there's no there.
And there I sit, winter's gloom upon my
morning eyes, in my morning often, the
oven of my pen. A Fool, upside down.
