AT THE THEATER

Watching Chekhov's play

"The Seagull"

with my Russian friends

up in the balcony

with a confessional love poem 

slowly emerging
in my smiling imagination

when there is no language

that could sabotage
or upstage

the Beat in me
with my sax of a soul out here

in the provinces,

anyway it is starting to rain

on the island

wondering if our life
merely repeats

the family dialogue
from any generation

in any lyrical
or musical language

but this play sends me back
to my early childhood

making my thoughts
and aching spirit rise

between two continents

to rock the boat over me 

knowing an aging poet

is always in exile
shipwrecked on the ocean

or by merely visiting
the company of another.