24 July 2015
original included background image
a personal handwritten message
to Tramp
– to a distant friend
To the twinkling one, the estimable, Tramp
I dropped a coin in your hat, urchin whistler. Out sprang symphonies.
You stepped through small gardens. Or stretched out on stone at your ease.
Our hearts beat in your pockets. Soil from the forest slept in our mouths.
We paddled deep while the night played saxophony to the tap of your piper feet.
Like a dog in a think tank barking across the bravura, being morning, simulcast along longitude.
It’s your call, piper, tramping your flute through the limbic. Flower bombing beatitudes.
Rolling in nettles wearing nothing but air.