Oasis
If a poet, drained
of poetry, empty,
lies outside your door,
too weak to knock;
do you open? do
you grant this ex-
poet shelter? nurse
him back to health
with stars and laughter?
You have a choice
you could also stab
him with your silence
leave him out there
bleeding onto that
concrete pavement
leave him to fight
his war alone
His poet’s war of
arcane words and
symbols. Hark!
he moves, he
rises! he reaches
out towards your
sculpted beauty
unwraps your scarf
of purple, folds his
head into your neck
Much later, in
midnight’s mirror,
you see he’s left the
moon on your throat,
glowing
Go to him!
Go beloved!
He’s waiting for you
in the desert. his
poems are an oasis
Drink them, Go!
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