A God For Gypsies

Is there a God for gypsies?

Or are there only marks and pigeons,

Red onions and goulash?



If there is a God for gypsies,

She must be wearing stolen boots;

And be able to read the road like tarot cards.



I have seen every star

From every side;

I have been run out of town

In a dozen different languages.



My dog,

He is a scholar.

He understands meat on a bone

As if it were Shakespeare.



And me?

I don't understand a damn thing,

Except that the sun comes up

And the sun goes down.



If there is a God for gypsies,

I wonder if She likes dark-haired women?

I wonder if She knows a potion that will cure my longing.



The days, now,

They are getting shorter.

I wonder where I'll be tomorrow?

I wonder, and I ask the empty sky,

Is there sense in the darkness?

Is there

A God for gypsies?

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