I see you, Gamble, low and moving,
Through a Georgia orchard on
Horseback; the sun is just leaving
Haversham County an evening
Of riding and Agamemnon.

I hear you, Gamble, freely speaking
Southern, flawless, English in creaking
Brick buildings in the dried disguise
Of Virginia. Were you not looking
Through the architecture in your eyes….

I sense you, Gamble, in Artillery
Lane, fingers triggering your songs
Among soft women with hard jewelry
(From some suntanned salary)
Shining in light with your lungs.

I grant you, Gamble, your passions.
Your owl’s smile, your cowboy fashions,
I thank you for the bourbon and snakes,
You musician; one of God’s persons,
From the poet – one of his freaks.

© 1970 Charles John Quarto

© Steady Arm Music.