The sunset poem

rode across the high desert

to the volcano stump.

The guy on the radio – the likable one,

the best of my generation, the idealist,

playing the world beat, and rock & roll –

he died last week.

Too young,

whatever his age.

Echoing in my head.

The poem erupted.

You can climb the volcano stump –

 a million years of erosion.

Just before the top, a small cave –

you can feel and smell moist air

from the middle of the earth.

LIGHTNIING STITCH, Angus Macpherson, 72 x 80, acrylic on canvas