dreams of youth
how he once stood
before the gates of knowledge
on a beach facing the ocean
imagining all the worlds
that were out there
waiting for him
remembering that hunger
to know the truth
this bright and shining thing
the old man laughs
coughs and sits up
elbows on his knees
head hanging down
jesus he thinks
how I used to believe
in poetry
those first readings of
Keats, Wordsworth, Shelley and Coleridge
I gave them my soul
trusted them entirely
there in Rome
kneeling at Keat's grave
while a young girl stood by
mocking
her words like stones in the water
and the years that followed
open and raw to the entire Universe
exposed and vulnerable
reading Katzanzakis in the desert
the taste of lighting in my mouth
then there is the return
the jobs, the hours, the paycheck
the sad artificial desire to recreate
the ecstasies of youth
the excesses of middle age
alcohol, empty sex, drugs, despair
the old man rises
with a grunt
stumbles towards the light
then stops
through one window
the moon
and remembers a vow from youth
about poetry and truth
and when he was old
the man realizing that he is at that place
naked in the moonlight
alone
through it all
the poetry
has remained
the taste of lightning in my mouth
