FOR LAVA WOMAN

On a rooftop in the Mission District
Framed in succulents and red wood
Her laughter and frankness and three burritos
Easily outdistance
The misfortunes of her wayfaring guests.

Recast, their plight becomes art.
And pain that threatened
To close in, opens out into a kaleidoscope
Of iridescent possibilities.

Late she came into the world,
Not quite fitting
Into anyone else's plans.

Mothers, sisters and lovers
All argued their cases.
Each buying time for her/his dreams
With her heroic compliance.

Finally stretched, rubbed, torn
And pulled over the stones
In other people's lives,
She forged weapons
Out of scabs and fragments of light
Salvaged from journeys deep in the night.

Now from the center of her own Realm
She touches and crosses many borders at will.
.
In sum it seems fair to say at Nina's house
The canvass is off the wall.
And even dim souls like old Al-Dog
Get the sense that in her presence
Light becomes the servant of its source.
December 1987