O, beautiful young strangers,
Artists yet unknown;
Twenty degrees,
Naked,
North of the Lake
On the desert's edge
'Neath the full November moon;
Warmed only by
The hot deep-earth brine
In which we soak.

You came to drink--
I too now--the simple music
Of your voices;
Lyrics, youthful:
Beverages, parties, home-conquests,
Women, pranks;
Your harmony carrying through--
Transcendental lieder
Even Schubert would have envied--
And the steam rose.

And the moon
Looked longingly
On the youthful splendor
Of your nakedness,
And the tenor of your duet
Rang wild
Across the salt marsh,
And filled the silent stony heights
Of the natural performance hall
Of Little Mountain.

11/24/2007

Author's Note: 24 November 2007, 8:15 p.m.

Posted on 11/26/2007
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes