RED MUSE POEMS  

The morning, a hint of red over the sea wash
before the forgetless women wander pale along the beach
with cold breasts and hard nipples mingling with fog 
odor of sea-wrack where the fire burned last night.

dreams of brushing the red hair from her eyes
the tightening of thighs around thighs
was it a dream? was it anticipation?


And who did she fear? He doesn't ask her. 
She was afraid the fishes would leap from the foam
and devour them at the moment they came.
Well, he wished it had happened.


They  walked bridges at midnight in silence
Eyes into the fires of winters past.
Eyes of her favorite stone reflecting a stream in
some obscure, sacred mountain where spirts roam.


Nights of brushing the red hair from her eyes
how did she put it, kolrimmed, under midnight
moon, full of heart and water browned by her secrets. 

Scented flowers held in the hands of the last man
who sees ten thousand moons in the water while
the fish swim against the tide; a nude word
points to the invisible river where women bathe
their heavy breasts stretched by burdens/ "go to Muse
     and taste of her delicacies."
 "She is filled with red wine flowing ever lasting."

She is perfectly nude, stately, alabaster; shining 
like coral seen in a translucent light/ a blaze of nudity 
applets dropping from the sky; red eels swimming in exotic 
circles in the red lake where poets luxuriate

A red genius of delight, a red delicacy of humor and light.
A bird without feather. A breast without cover.

Nude she stands, nude and red like a moon that wonders too close to the sun
A shapely red body outlined in the mind of some nude poet who craves his fun.