To Bruce --

a spirit in the night, all

right, these

broken fields, the

backburned solace

of solitude, the

highway

jammed, the yearning

embrace

of brotherhood and crosses, multiple

hardenings

of molten instances, the

backbeat

shimmering through the cymbals, the

hammering of the keys,

an arched longing for communion

and transcendence

of the minute instance, there

where you dance, guitar

in hand, the

favored weapon of

the bard, his

gruff voice a beacon shining

out at sea, the poetry

of badlands

and sudden Sisters, street

songs for

the hardened, the

desperate, the lovelorn, our

crusader

there of halfheard melodies

surging

through the dry land

of unsung acrobats, fathers

and their sons, the

sudden rage

that abates before the

fire,

a tempering of quiet

innuendos

and heartfelt striving -- you

would drive

all night, you

would see the lonely

coming into your

arms -- here

to tell our story, to

hold us there,

singing "It's

all right, it's all right,

it's all right" -- our

local hero just

awakened --

*