Tuesday, May 23, 2006

if we are us

Dawn is the time to see flying saucers
But magic in every instant
And walking everywhere
Life abounds on either side

We are the folks who help caterpillars cross the road
There is no name for our reward
Highway people and gypsy band
Who carry with us affections of many colors
Inventing slowly this new culture
Knowing only that now is forward
And there is no need to ask for directions
And some of us speak of rubber balls
And some of us speak of park benches
And some of us speak of cloud to cloud lightning
This is our way of speaking
Sometimes with barroom breath and poetry
Sometimes only with wide eyes

Our family holds many songs in our many satchels
We sing them by firelight and dashboard
We paint on bedroom doors and card board
Dancing new steps with invented rhythms
Howling and clapping and laughing and smelling
What fate has sewn on the breezes that reach us
In moments the great mystery touches us
And he said “truths like that
You have to let those strange hands touch you”

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