Amaranth

I have seen the sunrise over the Old Mountain
and the sunset on the unrequited horizon of the soul.
But it's not enough.
I still have a song to sing
a verse to write
a boat to row, a melody to cry.
words come and words go
like Mayfair fragrances on
the porcupine wind.
The tremor that muddled
our bodies with eloquence
remains, trembling within,
beyond oceans, and universes
and ideas and death.