Who is there

To hear the soul 

That speaks to me?  

Who can resonate 

With these strange phrases 

These ghosts of feelings 

Shed in thought?


The jeweler binds with stones 

The mettle of his nature

Dazzling the casual eye with easy pleasure

But what of these demanding subtleties

Expressed in plunging words

They beg beside the road

Like undiscovered fruit

They wait in patient silence

For the comprehending tongue

That finds the flavor of their speaking heart.

Where is the cousin of these dust covered orphans?

Will he be dressed in noble rags when he arrives?