She looked out at me
From the back cab
Of a hand-painted
Dodge Ram
And her face was dirty
And her teeth gone,
The casualty 
Of some ravaging
Obsession.
And she sat there
Captive 
To a man behind
Who jacked up some salvage.
Half his crack showing
But he didn't care.
And the woman nodded at me,
A kindness
And a half smile, a plea,
As if to say
See
I still am human
Enough to care
For you and me.
But there.
Now please pretend
That you don't see 
Me here.
Forget that you noticed.
And act as if
I don't exist.
And after returning her smile
And a kindness,
I did.

From my childhood,
It hasn't changed.
The clouds still roll 
In the heavens
And wind shakes the branches 
Of the trees that line the highway.
And the warming spring
With its stubborn,
Willful,
Obstinate insistence,
Refuses to unbe,
Or even to bend 
To these lower fables
That propel the hosts of men
Toward the abyss.  
When was it 
That we became 
So adult
As to believe
That there is anything
So important as these?
When did we loose track
Of that childlike faith
That lies upon its back
Of a summer day
And wastes it away
In musing?
I don't know,
But I think we lost
A thing not worth loosing.
And, call it folly,
I'm going back,
Back to the days 
When I believed
That someone,
Somewhere
Was looking out for me.
Will you come?
Will you leave the thing
You think you want
But can never really have
For the pace
That sees
The April breeze
In the clouds that float o'erhead?
I'm leaving.
And if you contemplate it for a while,
You'll agree
That the time for departure has come?
We'll leave
And we won't come back
Accept in the reflections
Of sunlit leaves.
It's there we'll meet
The lost ones here below
By refusing to unbe.
We'll warm them 
With the love 
That remembers 
When they could also see.
And one by one,
We'll gather them
To the thing they lost
Until all who will,
Refuse to leave.
And then we'll shut the door
Behind us.

You busy yourselves with profit
And we stand in line
For a morsel,
And you oblige.
And together we dance 
With the golden teacup,
Two parts of the same thing
And we've sold our souls
For a turn.
And deep in the gut
Burns the hunger
That cannot be satisfied 
With a thousand dinners
Served on china.
And the nectar
Of your idol's image
Steams hot into our nostrils,
And we stir it round
And toss it down
To broil
Deep in the emptiness 
Of all that we've desired.
So sad.
And now we're angry
And disappointed
When the music slows
Or stops
Or lurches forward sporadically.
Turn.  Turn.
Turn round and round
Old earth.
Turn us round and round
And afford us a turn
With that Silence
That waits
At the end
Of all our dainty pleasures.
Give us Silence
At the end of this day
When the musicians go home
And the streets fold up
And the owls invade 
Our haunts.
Give us peace then 
In all the things
That we've avoided.
Give us pleasure 
In Its sweet 
Song.
And then let It come
And dance with us
And own us
And sweep us off our feet
And carry us deep 
Into Its chambers,
And love us there
When the moon comes out
Above us
In the night sky
That we'd forgotten.
There.  
There it is.
Beneath the din.
I hear it coming for me even now.

It is not wrong
To leave your house.
It is not virtuous
To cower.

You will not escape
The need for miracles. 
For it is not what you do
But who you are
That is the problem.
Therein lies 
Heaven and hell.
And we do not escape our prison
Accept through the forsaking.
And the rest is not a work
For fleshy hands
And hearts
And minds.