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Mackenzie MAG
dancing
to songs of old
he taught me
fred astaire.
listening
to orchestral crickets
rustling leaves and
pitter-pattering rain
i revealed
the sounds
of season.
my blind eyes
saw his
sincerity
honesty
confidence
and all in
between.
we whistled
in the dark
the sweet tunes
of summer.
the theater
with its beautiful sound
had a glass rotunda
and a ceiling of stars.
i often laid there
on the white marble bench
in denim shorts
and red t-shirt
where i slept
dreaming
of past nights
i spent with him.
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