Music, poetry, fiction, and the occasional drawing
Maybe not all who wander are lost,
but most of us are.
And most of us are willing to risk everything for a glimpse of a heaven
we don’t even believe in.
What could be more lost than that?
If you know the way home, I would be grateful to hear it.
The long angry light that nobody asked for
throws shadows across all the delicate hopes
of the dreamers and children and adamant losers
who hold all their cards much too close to their vests
The boats that are pushing the barges upriver
never stop for the fishes or catching their breath
they cry for the mountains and seethe at the trees
while quietly ignoring the sins of the sky
The rain that stopped falling by judicial Order
has pooled at our ankles and elbows and knees
while we learn the new dance of evaporation
and pray for the mercy of a blinding disease
