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The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow | |
Set to the sky in a flying spree, for the sport of the pharaoh | |
A little while later the Pharisees dragged a comb through the meadow | |
Do you remember what they called up to you and me in our window? | |
There is a rusty light on the pines tonight | |
Sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow | |
Down into the bones of the birches | |
And the spires of the churches | |
Jutting out from the shadows | |
The oak and the axe, and the old smokestacks and the bale and the barrow | |
And everything sloped like it was dragged from a rope | |
In the mouth of the sow below | |
We've seen those mountains kneeling, felten and grey | |
We thought our very hearts would up and melt away | |
From the snow in the nighttime | |
Just going | |
And going | |
And the stirring of wind chimes | |
In the morning | |
In the morning | |
Helps me find my way back in | |
From the place where I have been | |
And, Emily - I saw you last night by the river | |
I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water | |
Frowning at the angle where they were lost, and slipped under forever | |
In a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky'd been breathing on a mirror | |
Anyhow - I sat by your side, by the water | |
You taught me the names of the stars overhead that I wrote down in my ledger | |
Though all that I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed in December | |
I promised you I'd set them to verse so I'd always remember | |
That the meteorite is the source of the light | |
And the meteor's just what we see | |
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee | |
And the meteorite's just what causes the light | |
And the meteor's how it's perceived | |
And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee | |
You came and lay a cold compress upon the mess I'm in | |
Threw the window wide and cried, "Amen! Amen! Amen!" | |
The whole world stopped to hear you hollering | |
You looked down and saw now what was happening | |
The lines are fading in my kingdom | |
Though I have never known the way to border them in | |
So the muddy mouths of baboons and sows and the grouse and the horse and the hen | |
Grope at the gate of the looming lake that was once a tidy pen | |
And the mail is late and the great estates are not lit from within | |
The talk in town's becoming downright sickening | |
In due time we will see the far butte lit by a flare | |
I've seen your bravery, and I will follow you there | |
And row through the nighttime | |
Gone healthy | |
Gone healthy all of a sudden | |
In search of a midwife | |
Who could help me | |
Who could help me | |
Help me find my way back in | |
There are worries where I've been | |
And say, say, say in the lee of the bay; “don't be bothered | |
Leave your troubles here where the tugboats shear the water from the water | |
Flanked by furrows, curling back, like a match held up to a newspaper” | |
Emily, they'll follow your lead by the letter | |
And I make this claim, and I'm not ashamed to say I knew you better | |
What they've seen is just a beam of your sun that banishes winter | |
Let us go, though we know it's a hopeless endeavor | |
The ties that bind, they are barbed and spined and hold us close forever | |
Though there is nothing would help me come to grips with a sky that is gaping and yawning | |
There is a song I woke with on my lips as you sailed your great ship toward the morning | |
Come on home, the poppies are all grown knee-deep by now | |
Blossoms all have fallen, and the pollen ruins the plow | |
Peonies nod in the breeze and while they wetly bow | |
With hydrocephalitic listlessness ants mop up their brow | |
And everything with wings is restless, aimless, drunk and dour | |
The butterflies and birds collide at hot, ungodly hours | |
And my clay-colored motherlessness rangily reclines | |
Come on home, now, all my bones are dolorous with vines | |
Pa pointed out to me, for the hundredth time tonight | |
The way the ladle leads to a dirt-red bullet of light | |
Squint skyward and listen | |
Loving him, we move within his borders | |
Just asterisms in the stars' set order | |
Where we could stand for a century | |
Staring | |
With our heads cocked | |
In the broad daylight at this thing | |
Joy | |
Landlocked | |
In bodies that don't keep | |
Dumbstruck with the sweetness of being | |
'Til we don't be | |
Told take this | |
And eat this | |
Told.. | |
The meteorite is the source of the light | |
And the meteor's just what we see | |
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee | |
And the meteorite's just what causes the light | |
And the meteor's how it's perceived | |
And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee |
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