THE ABODE

I don’t know why people

Change their abodes very frequently.

In my abode I am alone

It’s midnight

I am intoxicated with the wine of poetry

I was away for a few days

I lost my touch with you poetry;

How I missed you

In the dense forests of Africa

And in the shining lives of America

The buffaloes of Chief Seattle

Were grazing grass

I was with them

Savannah had its warm sighs to my heart

Prairies had their dancing grass on my lap

Still I have only one abode

My spouse arranged it

She had it within herself

Today I am alone

In the midst of nightmares

My security man warned me

Of my being dying

What will happen to your fame?

If anything happens, he asks.

It is always happening.