48, I miss poetry.

for a old friend:

 

 

best beloved of the fates

 

with some people you can tell.

is it the weft of blue veins on the arches of their feet?

or it might be a certain trick of deportment,

a method of walking to make oneself appear taller.

 

with some people the fragrance of destiny trails after them;

the scent of hairspray under klieg lights.

 

destiny is a funny thing. I am writing of it as a thing of certainty

but more often than not is it is bought with shin splints and hours logged in

airports and studios.

talent is merely interest on that payment, the principal is work.

 

with some people you can tell.

destiny means this could've been written ten years from now.

then, it would have started like this.

 

-I saw Lauren Cannon last on a program tucked into a stranger's back pocket in New York. The photographer must've loved her, just a little , to catch the sureness in those hands, which always managed to convey something beautiful and inarticulate.-

 

with some people, those best beloved by fate, you forgive them their talent.

just for the privilege to watch from the black velvet wings,

her immense shadow projected on the dark wall,

as insubstantial as smoke, as large as legend.