Confused in male bravado, steeped in chronic anger, I met a
gentle poet.
He reveled in reading aloud thoughtful words composed on the
breath of a loving, God filled heart. In my ignorance, I was somehow embarrassed
for him at first yet I listened.
I listen now for the gentle wind that carries him home.
Some men are bridges that others may cross over stormy waves
of hateful need to placid
depths not stained by violent fear.
