remembrance poem by Wayne Jackson

In whispering moments when we are quietly drinking
amid our dreams of tree and shade
and night, the predator, with cat eyes winking
more solumn in thought than faded rock,
I sense remembrance, the silent walker,
as I prancing willfully play.
I touch the void with violent fingers
and block the path of blackness
malingering at the edge of concious thought
forgetting too soon what once I’d sought
so skillfully the musicians play.