Ode to Allen Ginsberg

i hear your howl, carnal and aching in the dark jersey nights
your poetry lives in the hills of paterson and speaks to me from
the valleys of newark's great swamp
in rockland i heard you, your bearded love and flaming heart
turned me ON

i want to walk beside you through bookshelves, through histories of
working masters as you, kerouac, williams, and blake
your dollar pocket books, black and white, sit proud
i cuddle humbly with the carpet, reading and falling
in love with walt whitman in california
picking pears up in a local supermarket
and i mourned your mother's death
and stood, reciting her kaddish, beside you

you taught me love as powerful and unconditional
i heard your voice at midnight in the streets of san francsico
and in lower manhattan i saw your shadow dance in the trees
you speak truth and passion for all the voiceless observers
you are an artist who has seen through the light

you have stared the sun in the eyes and set her down in the purple horizon
you tamed cassidy and kesey in their experimental anguish
and soothed america to sleep with poetic truth
i rose up behind you and found in you my buddha
to allen, who i found in my soul and set free
on the page.