Friday, May 5, 2017

Golems and Failed Triumph

When Richard phoned
the gale winds outside
were making my Japanese maple dance.

His sweet voice
buzzed happy.

So. Tribeca experts examined
his heart's art. A rich
validation. Paradise.

"They liked my work," he said.
Called him a draftsman.
(Now singing "Draftsman"
instead of "Jazzman" to Carole King's song.)

"I am so proud of you," I said.

Proud of your fearless vision
Your dreams.
Those precious hands.

my light
my son.

Draftsman instead of Jazzman

Richard's Hands