How very sad to report that another beloved friend, teacher and poet has passed: Paul Violi. One of my very first poetry friends in New York City.
The night is nothing more than the night,
the moon little more than the moon.
But what better light to fill in the blanks
of a long conversation, the simple fact
of it filling those barren seas:
Sea of Clouds, Sea of Nectar, Sea of Dew.
Colors, too, and cold facts are enough,
the champions of a poem, a conversation,
whatever’s on the move — A voice slow
and easy like chilled Vodka.
Or, as Clarity said to me,
“Let’s shoot the breeze.
The night is a little bluer than last night,
the moon a little more than full.”