c o m p l a y n t

: frank walsh

When was it when
you were mere leaves on the wind's
mind and meeting in the dark street
that has no terminus,
I gathered you up in my arms.
Easily I could have gone my way,
life would have been less complicated,
I'd be safe even now
with a family and a place to stay,
but you possessed my heart, left
traces of baby gods and lost worlds,
made me mad with mirth at times,
struck at me, at others, with knives
that whispered like birds, like winds.

[]

from
AMERICAN TAO
by Frank Walsh