Billings, MT USA
Michael, I didn't write this and I can't remember who did, but it is my favorite poem of all time. Your poem, "Drifting," made me think of this.
"Listen to the Warm"
This is the way it was while I was waiting for your eyes to find me:
I was drifting,
going no place.
Hypnotized by sunshine, maybe,
barking back at seals along the beach,
skipping flat stones on the water,
but much too wise for sandcastles.
My castles were across the sea,
or still within my mind.
There were beach bars and the other people.
Sometimes little bedrooms were my beach,
but I was drifting...
I must have thought the night could save me as I went down in to pillows,
looked up from dirty windows,
smiled back through broken mattresses,
turned in Thunderbirds,
and kissed in elevators.
I cried too, sometimes,
I loved every face I thought looked pretty
and every kindred eye I caught in crowds.
But I was drifting,