Voices on the Wind
Voices in Tribute
An ancient word
by Mark Vogel
steps off the page reminding
of Bill Lightfoot’s laugh,
both at the center of relevance today.
Like the word, and Bill both were
saying I’m here, so deal with it.
Already dusk approaches,
the day is repeating itself, becoming used,
skin lived in so the word and the memory
of Bill makes the day distinct,
rich with sardonic humor—so much freshness
happy to be alive.
Like a hint of old Kentucky has come alive,
along with poker playing and whisky,
prompted by this word closeted
for so long.
In the accompanying story
white had been falling for some time,
in that strange patch of Frazier Fir
Christmas trees Bill allowed to grow wild,
as the two of us smoked a joint,
when we noticed the brown ground
had disappeared, all the old world gone.
Both of us looked around,
and smiled, knowing it would be a sin
to even try to articulate
what the hell would happen next.