Genius

The pulse of life
the divine blood
running in cold mountain rivers
resting in alley-way mud

Meroite warriors on the battle-field
slaying and being slain
fierce as lions
millenia before guns
ice still in swirling murals
regaled in indecipherable epics
of a lost civilization

It was Voltaire's endless energy
Frost's sparkling poetry
Elliot's laconic wit

Sprawling street markets
in any hard-scrabble land:
the eggplants nursed like babies
with careful sweat,
the pleasant manner of women
with jewelry and gods to sell:
small metal amulets
with prices meant to be bargained down
but only so far

the tornado of the pianist,
the big-footed prowess of the clown,
the bravery of the taxi-driver
whizzing like a pin-ball
through a grimy, million-light town