Dedicated to The Missing In Action

When cherished poets cease to post,

one is only left to hope
they'll return in their good time
as monarch butterflies do
when in from Europe flutter,
Atlantic crossing daring
to reach of all places ---
Guatemala.

When cherished poets cease to consider us;

their periodic absences unexplained,
their readership thrown to the gulls,
they leave us beached.
Their wanderlust has no remorse.
How could they have cared for us so little
who pledged us once eternal verse?
You got to be at heart a pirate.

When these ex-lovers, in high tide,

without farewell lift anchor
(let's keep it honest)
we are for them,
forgotten wake,
barroom fodder,
one night stands,
no better than emptied bottles.



waxing and waning
of high and low

We are to them addicted
like moths to lamp fire