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     (for Michael Wike, July 1971)

this is where i come
to see Michael’s smile
of softness
where sweet
this reality
is clover
saturated with hillside
where hillside with redwood
and chords of quiet motion
weave their peace
among the people
in sifting light
of forest skies
where stars
with curtain branches
remain bright
in shaded patches
hiding nightfall from the time
where sinks the meadow
in my madness
where apples sweet are wings
on angel patterns
harmonized to ocean breezes
in blackberry flute melody
to soothe left-over
yesterday’s anger
so forgotten for a song