IN ONE SHORT-LONG PERIOD

     by Bob Hart

He loved a flame
in the shape of a girl
who disappearing was missed
as rainbow
then hollow to
heat his art
as if burned by ice.
Call her flesh
or call her stream.
Of course she flowed
from one moment to the next
laughing with youth
while complaining:
self absorbed
as your prettiest flower
flattered by daylight
given the very green money
of his admiration.
Our daylight shines
where his absence stands--
lights looking for motion in that
dark bright space--
a spirit thing if you insist
though spirit likes
its vitality vital'd in something solid
so we'll take books
in place of bulk
volumes in place of the
volume of voice; a sense of the gone
instead of taken for granted his
coming and going.