Tuesday Poem: published in Kalliope in 1986

love at twenty

might as well be

thick white fog

clinging like sweat 

to everything,

burning off

as soon as the sun comes up,

or a ten second 

golden waterfall,

white hot with rapturous light,

and dry as a narrow stream bed;

for all its permanence

why not roll in the shallows

with a cold eyed swan

whose midnight caress

leaves you all by yourself

with a bruise of a memory

as morning pours over

the stony face of Olympus?