The Shining Path

He had been out there so long. On the shining path. Looking for a star to light his way. Oh how he knew lonely. He wore it like an old denim jacket. One faded and torn. Comfortable. It hung on him like a shroud. He sweated cold, and froze hot. Overly sensitive about the glare. He gave up care a long time ago. His vacant eyes a thousand yard stare. Unusually stoned. But I saw him melt. Beneath the candle light. Deep at night. As his fingers danced lightly upon her skin. Noting each detail. The line is thin, between sin, and Sunday morning. After the candle fades. And the glare sets in again. But he found his star. A treasure abandoned. Then he put his jacket away. E.G. Maynard. 46 & 2. 3.