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means that much to you, call me 'Poet,' if you want to," he replied
sarcastically. He stared down upon his child with a silent dominance;
he enjoyed seeing people squirm during silence; he enjoyed pricking

people with his eyes.
The female in black once gazed upward into his eyes but shud-

dered quickly away when she tasted his tartness. Immediately she be-
gan talking-about anything that strayed into her thoughts.

" 'Mister Poet.' I like that. That's cute. Sounds a lot better than
Erasamus. That's the name of the bearded poet I knew."

They walked on in silence. Then suddenly he blurted out, "What
do you see up there? Up among those glittering gems of our uni-
verse?" he asked pointed upward. "Do you ever feel those immense
satellites of flame are only specks of dust that just happen to turn to-
ward something at the right time and grab that whiteness and heave
it toward us? Only it never makes it, and all we see is the trying."
He was teasing her with words.

"You're funny, Mister Poet. Always making everything that's so
simple so hard. You got the funniest way of seeing things."

The man stared down upon his cuddled child as if someone had
slapped his face red. Shaking his head, he chuckled at the self-satisfy-

ing joke and walked on.
"Erasamus, he liked cats. Always writing about some cat creep-

ing around in an alley. Gave me the creeps. Of course, he always had
to drink 'fore he wrote anything. Sometimes got real mean, too."

"Erasamus ever write anything about you, honey? You know,
you're really lovely when you stand in the streetlight. Let me look at
you."

He bent over her, and then with a pretended smile he whispered,
"My Madonna, That's who you are. You're my Mary."

"But I ain't been to church since I was fifteen and then it was ... "
"No, believe me. You're her. You're my Mary."
Scaning his eyes she tried to find the truth but he quickly slanted
away, and she dropped her head in puzzlement.
"Yes, my Mary ... my salvation." And his hand swung across
the whole horizon like an overanxious salesman and her eyes fol-
lowed. He grabbed her hand, and pointing toward a star, he ranted
on, "The whole sky blesses us. Look at that star winking. It knows

our secret. Isn't it beautiful?"
She turned and looked into his eyes and believed him; theri very

hesitantly she mumbled, "I'm your Madonna," as if she really knew

what he meant.

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