Letter to Ivar Cruz

Last day in February
snowdrifts hang on trees,
moored with Christmas memories
carols linger on but jesus fades away
in clowns and boutique angels

Now my friend Jerry teaches at Harvard divinity
an angel with AIDS, but could he write a bestseller
with his crown of sublimation ?

Living at home,
sleeping with your maw-paw
chewing Milton and Lord Byron
into bytes the size of cupies
the once fearsome god now fluff and meringue
smoking under the Portland moon

Yet the stars could spin out of control
break down this bust of Market Street
yea, he don't need no classroom
this angel dancing on a pin
He's ready to teach

2.28.1994