Dialogue #3

Sullenly beachcombing, with sick biorhythms,
a frustrated trickster tries to get free,
finds hope and scissors to sacrifice a horseshoe crab
for a return to the civilized tangle of Soho.

Your sullen trickster,
let him go. Have him leave
my honeysuckled cliffs
pebble beaches
tidal pools
where life is ordered,
rhythmic.

The rough ocean oscillates its ravages.
The law around his ankle is lonely and insular.
He dreams through portals, stripped pink, away from drumming,
And a million trees that trill against the marching.

(italicized stanza by Moira Scheuring)
circa 1990