Johnette
She answers me in a summer song
and frees all the bottled up potions gone wrong
Looks in my eyes and determines the cause
and shoots straight while I start to cry, just because...
she knows me. She knows all my simple
delirious quirks and why streams of writing could never be work
She sends her thoughts skyward toward high altitudes
and offers advise without cheap platitudes
With candle wax burning my thin finger tips
she talks of my future, to God's ears, from her lips
She prays for me often and I for her too
as the consummate artist eternally through
She was born for a crisis and quiets the room
when the moment of tragedy strikes us too soon
but then when the currents have spread out the pain
she weeps in her privacy, flooding her way
Celebrate passion and swing on a star
She taught me to see with the eyes of my heart
So I breathe like today is my first and my last
while I graciously bow to my present and past...
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