Spring 1986, Volume 3

LaVon B. Carroll

1 don't want the day filled
with gold-green light,

I don't want the night filled
with the split-silvery sheen
of passionate, new love.

I don't want all the air strung
with fine, thin quivering wires
music keening in my ears
all waking hours - you filling
my veins with sweet, sensuous poison.

Leave me now to dull beige dawns,
to soft mauve twilights
stains of purple shadows spreading
over the thinning mind
and subdued heart.

Let me put on the frail, gray voile
of evening and walk
in my autumn garden

where lingering thoughts of you
merge imperceptibly

with the musty scent of decaying leaves.