For Peggy Pearson

d. January, 2004

Sometimes in my dreams,

I am standing under a tree.

You are standing next to me. We are talking,

but you, never one to waste time,

are busy painting the tree as well.

Not a picture of the tree, but the tree itself.

Why bother with the middleman?

you say to me, one scoundrel to another.

One other thing I'd like to mention, something

I noticed one day: you weren't afraid

of using black when it was called for.

You'd even learned to keep a bit

for your personal use, for times

when the going got tough.

I liked that about you, that funny, sharp edge.

Here are some words to take with you

like a bracelet of hair:

                             Black,

                                                                      Heart,                          

                                                                                                Tree,

                                                                         Friend,

                                                                                                Love.