You read me lines before you left.
Love tames all that is wild, you said.

I know I am finally done with running,
but I have no where to go. I can’t find you.

On the G-mail, Yahoo, what have you,
I risk being exposed as a scam scumbug.

I, too, am ill, and I have nothing to leave
except palpable feelings of your touch.

I have become wealthy with these tender
Not pounds nor guineas, but all this gentle

currency that has long lost its value: Love,
love for the wild heart and the wild times.

—Albert B. Casuga