Paul Carroll

Were you guys lucky, too, to caddy the light
of freshly-sprinkled fairway delicate and bright as eye of an
Indiana owl
or glitter of fish flickering in the Shedd Aquarium of the
imagination

Our matchbox bedroom in the loft above your
sculpture factory
Turns magical at times
Behind its dark blue Druid door.     Last night,
Inside you, sweetheart,
It felt as if I were coming from the soul itself.