To Writers R.A. and Tom
By James Milliron
My paths preceded four decades of amorous liaisons
and a few splendid bottles of red. Now unlocked
from a diocesan preparatory of closed windows
with wasted air overflowing my misguided youth
you flung open the abysmal shuttered room.
Labors in tradition at the reading desk
and written sacraments beneath midnight oil
champion the search for secrets lost from my life.
Critical of mysteries in men’s hearts
the pen ventured alone knowing what was high
calling, accepts your criticisms.
When no longer able to raise to the mount
in times of wise and gray, I will thank you
for preventing blindness in these aging blue eyes
overdosed with memories of marvelous nights
with Dionysus on our breath.
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