On the pristine cloth of life,

The silver flute

Stood waiting


Its expectant keys

Yielding to the fingertip touch

And the warming blood


That pulses in the bubbles

Of the eye

And the mischief

Of the heart


As the irrepressible


Moves the wire-framed



And eases the joy

Back into the world

Sailing with the Seraphim

Of hope


And dancing the Galaxy’s

Tarantella of whirling




Now feeling the softest

Aeolian breath


And cast…


That crispest


Apple note

Onto the tongue of song


Sharing the joke of life

As Puck

He turns the page


To play the piper’s

Piquant tone

And laugh the music

Of fate’s slanting script


On, to the river

In his Jester’s shirt

And the Emperor’s new

Birthday suit


And laughing with the Lords

At the folly of the tower


And swimming with the salmon

In April’s foolish shower


And wiping the pearls

Of poignant tears


And chuckling with the teeth

Of knuckles bite


And tapping the shoulder

Of forgotten years


And seizing the dawn

From the grip of night


From the core of the kernel

Of Phoenix flight

Feeling it all

In this earthly delight


Touching the tapestry

Of this singular