Records in the Dark over Market and Park

My Anarchist Pollyanna

My girl too far, too near

For whom I

And she

Was born too little

And too late

Like ships passing

Not in the night, but

Along shoals of years

Across shoulders of giants

Searching for rainbows

Bridging the gulf

And everything in between

 

Random futures are spake

In the grooves of old records

Turning in the dark

Over Market and Park

Blaring

Amid our

Now’s and then’s

Our to be’s and

Not to be’s

These are the questions

I’d put everything up

To answering,

 

But,

 

The answer is in the question.

The being able to ask

That’s what love is, and

All that it is.