Keening -------------------------------- for Michael it's like the beating of drums these voices chanting poems from old files or pulled from under couch cushions and piles chanted as though their very meter could carry him up to heaven these lines of words, some dearly treasured, some half-forgotten; I always thought there'd be more I always thought there'd be more a summer kite is floating just in sight above the trees bobbing to the rhythm -- who will play the drums for me? I always thought there'd be more -acm (7/18/00)