You must risk everything for Freedom, and give everything for Passion
I Roman Payne
The wind tangled her tambourine ribbons
as she twisted through streets
of white houses and cobblestones,
looking for the wild song that might have been
her true self. I remember that girl
who befriended the gutter doves
and port city that had sentences with no endings,
just run-on possibilities
haunted by sweet smoke and flute, a harem
of hanging carpets.
She was like a bird I wanted to catch
but could never come close enough
to share her wings or shadow. The sun
always separated us with glare. I turned away
and woke up trembling.
My shoulder’s looped in leather, an old satchel
as I rush up the stairs
averting looks and looming clocks;
I have ten minutes to board my plane.
Beads of amber and coral hang
around my neck with tribal grace. My long hair wisped,
wanton as the esparto grass
leaning over the Moroccan hillside. I have the taste
of mint tea on my tongue and a handsome man
(once Ohio’s native son) waiting in the desert air,
many sea miles away. Love has rendered me
impulsive. I look toward the window
and feel the rhythmic light, that same girl’s pulse,
a gypsy flash of gold.