O Prometheus


King of my heart,

the fabled phoenix

hides her scorched head

beneath her wing in shame,

compared to you.

Rising fresh from the still-hot embers

each morning,

down from the mountain, giddy and exultant.

you set fire to the nights.

Asleep in our beds,

we dreamed wailing and stomping

portentous gigantic mysterious

music no one ever made

before or since you.

Glorying in life, rightly named a king,

you chose me. We raised the roof plenty

raised two kids two dogs two cats

gave twenty-two turkey dinners.

Big hands relaxed on the knife, laughing

you served up the feast.

Those hands loved me.

Bed together was our constant pleasure

a double feast of coupling

then reading all day,

greedy, joyous, content.

Your music so big your mind so big

your heart so big I lived inside it.

Are 57 years enough for life?

are 24 enough for love?

it seems it must be so.

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