Where are the eyes of the night, the soul and
the morning star? I am here, listening
to the roll of the globe under my feet
hard-pressed and sore.
Writer in San Francisco, CA

She claws her way out
of hell, Cerberus howling
breeze warms frigid air
Young buds stretch for blossoming
birds fluttering in the trees
Where are the eyes of the night, the soul and
the morning star? I am here, listening
to the roll of the globe under my feet
hard-pressed and sore.