What trees came out of here?
What harm has been done before
How could we have ever saved you
Ten thousand miles away?
Chainsaws and axes thrown
Into your hearts of gold
Good soil twisted off again
Broken away and shipped beyond
Pretending another way.
Darkness returns in your future’s growth
Overstory large and bark
Grabbing at a curious mind
Peaks and valleys roughening
Softening along the floor
Moss returns again.
Save me from getting old
Your fingers forever a sacred chalice
To which my lifeline shall be caught
As I freely let
Unto the fingers that touch me so.
I shall not shy away
From this touch you lay upon
Skin so stretched as leaves turn gold
Save me from getting old.
I want the gray hairs
Prepared for wrinkles
I want for to smile
And nobody cares
Loving all night long
I’d slowly waltz upon
To old rock and roll songs
Singing along to every line
Heart leaking like gold
As Neil Young’s lonely piano
Became my smiling notes
Of these passionate hairs
What could have been
What should have been
What left me out of words I meant
To be there
To hold on
To share love
To give it up and hand it in
To set the gold
That dreams made of
That said goodbye
That turned away
That could have been
That should have been
And left me out of words I meant.
I watched the sun set today
My worn legs took me to the edge of the world
Where I ran my finger over horizon lines
That achingly waltzed a deep pink hue of gold.
The last drops of sunlight are transfixing
They speak of ancient willows blowing in the wind,
Of ancestors who worked fields with their hands,
Of patio chairs rocking back and forth
Transfixed by the first sips of a perspiring cider.
Then, darkness calls;
Outstretched hands tracing my jawline
Caressing my sore back with nimble fingers
Jarring my consciousness with fading memories
Like static visions lifting stars into place
And a wind dying down for rest.
As each toe touch shimmers gold and let’s horizon shine within
My breath becomes held so dear for I shan’t want to disturb
I see each leaflet of your hair lazing about so free
That my face can feel with each breeze the sensitivity of your back
And this my heart it lifts with ease as goosebumps do grow of
Upon just knowing how we share this stoop, and I privy to your thoughts
So deaf have I become of else walking upon our path
But in your hand you walk up from, a bouquet in your hand.
Your lazy way fills up my mind
With honey bags full and plump
So heavy that your wandering
Feels delightfully like a wobbly jaunt
Hand in hand again.
It reminds me of days spent
Lounging in floral gardens,
Where I, too, did float about
From yellow, pink, and purple too
Into deep recesses of sacred jewels.
You dance in front of my very eyes
Miraculasly grabbing hold of flowers
So delicate looking and forever blooming
Scarcely able to hold your weight,
Now stuffed so full with sweet gold
And off to home you go.
I was a sailor broken down
Two bags of silver from the crown
One Lady yonder missing me
And two days more I’d run from ground
But even with a bag of gold
I called out loud when setting sail
For o’r the breakers I was sure to see
A land I’d not know, adventure to me
And surely a maiden calling out to be
Another Lady missing me.
Take me to the canyon, Pilgrim
Along a dusty trail
My pack mule’s been dying, Sir
For a thirst that’s never quenched.
Mine me all your gold now
Deep below the belt
Mind me as your prospector
I’ll be clearing all your debts.
I’ve been buildin’ ladders to
Mexico in a bottle
I’ve been runnin’ through my picaxe
And my hands sing rawhide.
One more round ‘for I go down
One to kill the dust
Maybe my day’ll come soon
I’ll fill my final thirst.
Dancing through the Kingdom of Joy
Alone, the rupture had a sentence
A package of unexpected buoyancy
Laid about thy path.
Oh, shame shame the clouds have come
Accept thy fate and look back no more
Forgive each breath you once deplored
Let run deep thy river’s mane.
Stepping aside, a willow tree
Called thy name twice in vain
But on the third day, as time began
A shift in conscience pulled at thee.
Then with a rod of sixfold and reel
Twang at last, the pauper’s gold
Gifting all that had been told
Left alone in a field of wildflowers.