Drum comes in; steady and
Lacota-Sioux, ghost- beat strong.
She’s standing, tall and proud
Behind silk scarfed microphone
In seen-better-days snakeskin boots;
Little, gentle flex of the knees,
Sway of hips, shoulders, fringes
And everything between and besides.
Mellow melodies float in and by
On lazy foxbat wings.
It’s after midnight, it’s been raining
Again, yet her silver eyes hold me
Like golden angel’s searchlights
And I am truly lost.