The Right Column
River Freezes

Before you knew what sex was
Fresh brewing joy
  
  Morning, when I had
 fallen into a dream
   you were not there
  or pending in your presense

  A truck was turning near the
         oak tree.
   The cab scraped 
       by low branches.

  The sound of air brakes,
    the smell of fresh brew
    the taste of organic
       Costa Rican
       freshly ground.

  My poem dream had
   turned into a commercial
    A lady, who served the brew
     stood with shining face
    like Hollywood stand up dolls
      but that was real life.

   How could it be real life?
    That screetching sound
   from the hot rod kid's foot stomp.
  How could it be 1968 and dust rising
     on Park St near the Natick High School.

   But it is only the High School in dream
    from a time when I didn't know what High School 
              love was.

   Like the first time I met Mike C.
    He knew my name.
      He made me feel,
          just with his hello,
      So glad to know you too.


Illuminated Amythist 
   at Sculpted Rocks, 
    New Hampshire