Gel Poem

i stare white-blind, (my visor is no help)
into the white-hot heart of the glowing
screen, groping for the words (like a mislaid
lance) with which to win for me some token
of your esteem.

lady, the images dance, and like my
heart, they can not sit still. try as I might
with hands to keep them fast, they slip away,
like loose-held reins tied tight about my will.
i must ask you:

when i am vanquished by time's cruel tourney,
will you deign still to wrap your smile about
my broken shoulder? that much i'll need when
i make that final journey home: one
small piece of you.

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This appeared in Poetry.com and is protected by American copyright law. If Poetry.com is good for anything, it's at least good for insuring that your work is recognized as yours outside the home country. My other work is protected by "the poor man's copyright."