It is June in Tucson
and I’m staying with my flute pal, Paul Horn,
or, the god Pan, take your pick.
the Sonora desert is teeming with Life
birds taking chorus after chorus
quail, wood dove, cardinal and humming birds
quivering pink bouganvillea lays back
beneath brilliance of impossible blue skies
sun kissing my neck
it has an Easter feeling here
with all the wild rabbits
so tame you can almost
This poem was written during a visit with Paul in Tucson
in the late nineties. Paul passed this week. He was a flute mentor
to me and life long inspiration. My love goes out to Ann and the family.
Strangely, I had a dream this week of a red cardinal. Now, I will think of Paul
when I play, with love.