cold winds moaning alone over mountain peaks;
purple evening deepening to the note
of a blown conch, steeped in the sea
and blue as the o in soul.
I have sent my heart out to look for you
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and it comes back daubed wet with red clay
from a riverbed, beginning to dry
and crack in the sun.
Now I send my love out on four winds,
and ask it to come towards you down the path
you are traveling, to be the first green thing your eye
lights on one morning, to find you and stay with you
and not come back to me
I wish I were green rain in a grass field,
or green-gray rain
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A.R.T. Teaches Leadership With a Passionate New Henry V