d. January, 2004
Sometimes in my dreams,
I am standing under a tree.
You are standing next to me. We are talking,
but you, never one to waste time,
are busy painting the tree as well.
Not a picture of the tree, but the tree itself.
Why bother with the middleman?
you say to me, one scoundrel to another.
One other thing I'd like to mention, something
I noticed one day: you weren't afraid
of using black when it was called for.
You'd even learned to keep a bit
for your personal use, for times
when the going got tough.
I liked that about you, that funny, sharp edge.
Here are some words to take with you
like a bracelet of hair:
Black,
Heart,
Tree,
Friend,
Love.