Love-song For Tamara




The wind bears the name of a tide

That the poet never knew existed

To an arena dirtied

By swords and swearwords.


 He heard the soothing song

In the name of a tide,

He heard the unuttered prayer

In  the waves of a tide.


 Among a gathering of glances

TAMARA is the gale

Sweeping a realm dirtied

By war and scarred words

TAMARA is the pain

Feeding dreams to song.




But eyebrows swell

Queries gasp, envy lurk

In a comedy of glances:


 “What is TAMARA?

Who is TAMARA?

Where is TAMARA?


If the poet knew, won’t he tell you?


A voice out of deep rivers

She squealed the river’s secrets:


I was a water-spirit. I was freed

To taste and tempt the human spirit.

But now, I’m reborn

In the Spirit of the Living God


 If the poet knew, won’t he tell you?




He offered her his sad heart

Wrapped in a sweet smelling flower

Heart, the source, the nurse

That rouses us so for love.


She offered him the shooting stars

Of her eyes; she offered her face

Where all the lines mint elisions

Like love’s last imitation :


Suddenly he craved a last look

At her face aging into this page.


Last night’s courting-place

Persists in the glowing sun-trees

It cannot guess the altered hearts

Of its last tenants.


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SENTINEL POETRY #29, Online Magazine Monthly,  April 2005, ISSN 1479-425X