I Sing

Oil, water, wine, bird,
Hands, dried in sun & work.
Knees, arms, finally react
to wood chopped, dirt turned,
dreams and songs
& each day she thinks
this will be the last
or the first

All clouds now
stretching overhead
& she watches the weather of the stars
hears her own heart beating
as the blue dress,
the blue sky,
the blue doggies,
finally stop.

Bicycle, apparitions & midnight meeting with herself
Listens to the darkest thought,
the final hour,
the dearest friends, her only child,
her lover, one and all
passing before her
and there is no comfort,
this we know, for all the losses

longs for comfort
moments lost
yet in dreams, she returns, returns
to even lives that did not occur
and weeps from the memories
all a waking
all a focus to the essential
barking of a dog

rain in her hair making crazy,
making it all
a flood, a fire, a quake,
a life, crazy with
a water dream, a water dream,
she stands in the old theatre,
water hip deep
and gives thanks
for the parallel

city, world, dream, theatre
where another choice was made
even by God,
where another path was taken
and the same Grand Ol' love came back
again and again

and her familiars,
beautiful in their ambiguity and their
passion, passing, paramount purity, reason
where all is nothing
where just one speak, in a droplet filled with
sun and eternal

today
in a note sung or not sung
in a word written or not written
in a hand taken or not accepted
in a life given or not given
in a word, a song,
Meal made, bread broken
dipped in oil and consecrated
in the tidal wave of today.
I sing a song
of all
I sing