To be held in the heart of
a friend is to be a king
but the magic of a lover's touch is what makes my spirit sing
when you're caught up in this longing all the beauties of the Earth don't mean a thing.
oh -- and the night grows clear and empty
as a lake of acid rain
and i don't feel your touch, again.
The last light of day crept
away like a drunkard after gin.
A hint of chanted prayer now whispers from the fresh night wind
to this shattered heart and soul held together by habit and skin
and to this half-gnawed bone of apprehension buried in my brain
as i don't feel your touch, again.
(Toronto, June 1987)