| Be Be the sun over the evening tide Be the hand upon the cat The paper is calling for the charcoal Which in turn, calls for the smudge The heat from summer�s hearth burns As the wick awaits the flame Telling the ice to hurry up and freeze. All the colours of the glass swirl murky And bits, little bits, make up the whole Where is the silicone for this window? The pane reclines reflecting passerbys As reds dance with the yellows A corner of blue misses the sky And a dry mouth longs for rain. shalome � 2004 |