Houdini (06/07/07)

You to me are effacing,
slow against the wind.
Like the sunless sand in the ocean,
you are the stark contrast of Picasso,
reborn to create Monet.
The summer wind has faded,
along with it your hand
or the whispered words of Neruda
from the desperate poets' land.
On the empty nights you echo,
like records long ago--
faded struggling artists,
now buried deep below.
You to me are effacing,
slow against the wind.
like stiletto walks- on staccato,
and the wilting deep within.