Verandah dance

the small lamp is glowing
the dark shade cupping light
the sphere emitting more
warmth in this humidity

the light above the screen
is on  the enamel hood
gathering nocturnal insects
they flit about the bulb racing
like random electrons

the kitchen flourescent tube
hums on all the clean dishs
all the coffee cups
and waiting plates for the
hungry gathered come daylight

Beth is reading in the chair
her blonde hair cut in bangs
across the front
clam diggers
box of small cigars in her
pocket and cider in a glass
at her right

we can hear the fire pit crackle
and the strains of guitar chords
mellow across the bay
the bank of windows dotted
with kick knacks post cards

the oilcloth on the table and
the four chairs
the red light on the stereo
on the bakers rack glowing
like the angry ember

CBC piano score turned low

and the darting bats picking
off moths round the light

I want to say so much
I want to Know her
to interchange words
to connect with what I want
what I need

I am the dark horse in the
last hour
and we are tethered in our
escape

stopping here at a freinds
the truck parked in the
lane

he turns the page on his novel
on the daybed
and I sit poise at the Remington
Rand smelling the blue airmail
paper and the inked silk ribbon
the smooth lubricant

when I drive home and we listen
to David Bowie  "Life on Mars"
when we park beneath the hardwoods
the outside light on on the modern
log home
we will hug gaping the distance
between us

she will smell of cedar on her
bush shirts warm
and sweet shampoo
and dark spice cigars

and her eyes will smile like
the calmest summer day
her voice will be velvet low

and moths will dance
around the bulb like thoughts

and when the truck is rolling
when Im in third gear
and the wind sweeps in
through the vents
when the tires sing on the
blue blacktop

I will shed tears for all the
silence like the stars above