WHAT I DON'T HAVE
I don't have a broad bay window overlooking
a Pacific beach where through webbed soaring pines
waves curl like inviting ladies' fingers
and I answer by rushing them in my bare feet.
I don't have a fine-tuned grand piano in a room that echoes
when I talk to myself or laugh with very old friends
because I'm halfway through Chopsticks
and there is a small sense of the ridiculous.
I don't have a computer with boggling extensions
that open up other worlds happily confused
with the possibilities that fascinate my curiosity
but I'd rather watch someone else operate.
I don't have two pet wolves acting like dogs
who come when called to play wolf games
they taught me on a howling moonlit summer night
once when I ran out of words and music in my world.
I don't have phones rung by carefree grandchildren too much away
with weekend invasion at the back of connecting minds
because they miss my roaming keyboard pastures
and need to find fulfillment of childish beach dreams.
I don't have a private parking lot for city curios
dying to launch new poetry about old humanity
a mutual admiration society of rare beings
artists, wishful realists, between the wars of multiculturalism.
I don't have a goddess, couched, legs crossed in ceremony
hair loosed, eyes magnetized by ESSP
I, mesmerized, speechless strangely
secrets revealed that tears can't ever appreciate.
I don't have resilience in my physical push
vague regrets for boyish speed and pointless leaping
but there's enough for joyful connection in easy stages
while force patiently divides itself by two at least.
I don't covet the rosey attainment of personality-plus
since muscle and hair and smoothness have waned away.
My days and nights exude respect in glances
as I plan my conquests behind the wink of an eye.
I don't have time to wonder long about my life
stretched like a lazy rug before my winter's fire.
Sleep is a luxury sacrificed on each day's altar
as wakefulness stampedes me toward what's left.
(Eye of The Wolf)