SING THESE NOTES

 

Sing these notes you have

from the tablature writ

on the clouds,

It's a sunny day over snow capped

Asian mountains.

Pray at altars

in cathedrals

erected on land

where the sleeping dogmas lay,

Every white bearded sage

we've worshiped

cannot give us rain or relief

from being ourselves.

The love we've taken

and given in resentment

remains on the acres

we lived upon and

traveled among.

Our diaries, scrapbooks,

our pages drifting

in the digital ether

are filled with hillsides,

muddy roads,

bridges over unbreachable chasms,

cats sleeping on sofas,

skylines from Shanghai

to Seattle,

All the sites we might

have said "I am"

and "I am here"

and "And now I bid

you adieu "

Yes, we sing in our sleep

and dream after we wake,

stare across the lake

and imagine who

is sleeping now

in his bunk on

that cargo freighter

on the horizon

and wonder if he

dreams of lovers in ports

sing love songs

in a language

odd and alluring.

As you wonder

and as he might dream,

wakes wash up to

the lake shoreline,

rushes over rocks

and slabs of concrete,

the water runs off

and the smallest

bit of our home

is washed away,

the rest of the world

draws us closer

and nearer

to the heaven that seeks us.