He is not the spirit of youth 
but the spirit of age 

age grips the microphone 
as he speaks into it 

he tells of the boat he will take 
“one of these days” 
into infinitude 

he speaks of white hair and beard 

and though he is beardless 
his white hair 
shines 

he does not pretend 
to be young 
or wasted by life like Tom Waits 

he knows 

what matters 

is lifestuff not age 

he knows 
that age 
does not diminish 
the splendor 
of life’s sensorium 

and that other his partner 
plays 

chords of violence and tenderness 
improvisations that tell 
this world of music 
is realer than the world he speaks of 
when he speaks of 

Lestat 

“The music was a bit…repetitive” 

But the poet 
says nothing except his poetry 
which says everything 

When he is silent he wanders 
to the piano 
and looks, interested 
in what his partner is playing 
and how he does it 
or turns to the flutist 
whose beautiful treble notes 
suggest 
a world of air 

And so we enter 
(McClure, Manzarek, Kassin— 
all of us) 
“the antechamber of the night” 

at the Noe Valley Ministry 
January 14 
2006

 © Jack Foley