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Description
Late by forty years under cardboard skies
Here they emerge as offspring of the vivid air
Born from the sun to which we travel
From and to the little house of wind chimes and redbirds
And playing horseshoes in the midnight worn of old,
Bed side tables stood with standing stones in miniature

Oh for all the tiny rowboats
Stranded on a bed of ice and the water bills that can’t be paid
Oars locked firmly against the rising tide
Here comes the sun to crackle your red paint
Hold on, Jim, he’s not dead yet

Little old children fish for golden koi in airless places
Among the water lilies on the dark face of the sun
In the introverted rivers standing all so pale and secret
Under the crimson stone of a far colder, crueler cruller
And through a great ocean of truth lying
Undiscovered at the heart of us and everything
In which to find a smoother pebble than ordinary
To show us the way
Back home

Here is what went before and is to follow, day by day
Eon by eon on a subtle watch in happyland
Here is a chopper of mangroves and celery
And the sultry sweet voices of the turtle

One last anguished glance of a sparrow
Down to the candle that gutters
In the draft of an open shutter
I’m just going out.
I may be some time.

Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

Description
Late by forty years under cardboard skies
Here they emerge as offspring of the vivid air
Born from the sun to which we travel
From and to the little house of wind chimes and redbirds
And playing horseshoes in the midnight worn of old,
Bed side tables stood with standing stones in miniature

Oh for all the tiny rowboats
Stranded on a bed of ice and the water bills that can’t be paid
Oars locked firmly against the rising tide
Here comes the sun to crackle your red paint
Hold on, Jim, he’s not dead yet

Little old children fish for golden koi in airless places
Among the water lilies on the dark face of the sun
In the introverted rivers standing all so pale and secret
Under the crimson stone of a far colder, crueler cruller
And through a great ocean of truth lying
Undiscovered at the heart of us and everything
In which to find a smoother pebble than ordinary
To show us the way
Back home

Here is what went before and is to follow, day by day
Eon by eon on a subtle watch in happyland
Here is a chopper of mangroves and celery
And the sultry sweet voices of the turtle

One last anguished glance of a sparrow
Down to the candle that gutters
In the draft of an open shutter
I’m just going out.
I may be some time.

Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.