Picture: Summernight, Riverside Drive by George Bellows
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Love song:
Not asking for permission
To sing.
God-eyed peepholes,
Observing, singing.
An unwavering choir?
A congregation unasked for?
Mighty choir, solemn congregation.
Bid me farewell, wish me
To fare well
To the rhythm of the seething sun,
To its vapors unseen yet sung
In sour-sweet tones, daily or more,
Bestowed upon heedless bones.
And who is that? You and me?
Don’t be starch:
You’ve got much to weave, much to dispel,
Many an incantation to spell;
Rig it right; straighten up; listen to none
Of those unworthy voices, those
That keep you up at night and dull awake.
Love song:
Let me fool your brain
Into independent happiness;
Chew the bay leaf and submit
To the variation of sensation,
Unwavering,
Like all things, shifting
To the rhythm of tempo-less beats,
Repeats and distracted fingertips.
It’s a farmer’s job to tend to life
When other creatures stir in strife.
You,
Yeah, you
Have a glorious mile
To run, hike, swim, or glide;
You,
Why, oh, you,
My beacon of light,
Contracted, intoxicated in unhandy flight,
You, firefly!
Basking in the dark night
Of the soul, sole and adrift;
Magnificent puddle of dreams,
Shaking and dreaming.
Who might you be?
Don’t ask me.
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Herons