MY TRIBUTE TO PRINCE -- THE BEST FRIEND I EVER HAD
March 11, 1982 – June 5, 2012
In his liquid eye is the blackness of desert nights
Strewn with flickering campfires.
His two ears, pinnacles on an Ebony mosque,
Are formed in graceful symmetry
The cavernous nostrils convert an Oregon breeze
Into the hot desert wind.
His voice can be a trumpeted call to war
Or a soft, meandering tune of mystery,
The whole quicksilver image of him
Shimmers like heat waves over scorching dunes.
He is molded of morning mist and rifle smoke –
Of soft, cold ashes and boiling clouds,
He hallows the earth where he stands,
He is mine and I am his.
But I know the Prophet's Thumb cannot save him:
It has no power here,
He is gone, the tapestry of my life
Is torn – a void exists –
Where once was an awkward baby,
A willing companion,
A happy friend.
