The man on a stool
plays hard on
his guitar -
steel strings sing quiet
in the dusk
autumn has fallen away
for winter has found its name
without peace for a moment
deep in the blues -
it is but the games
men play
that never remain
A pine scent on a child's taste
memories, are they more then gone
christmas rain
cold white crystals
alight are the trees
just beyond
his coal-smoke
stained window
The man on a stool
plays hard on
his guitar -
red twisted in green
below a layer of dust
lives with a bow of
ribbon
resting on a newly broken
tree limb -
and there is a smile behind his
glazed eyes
touching through his
blues
are things forgotten ever lost
are things remembered ever found
his feet tap the rhythm
of a dance that tore
apart his soul
Christmas is on his mind
where the blues
whisper
across
a coal-smoke stained floor
footprints and no more
