even cold

and even the silence seems frozen

forty years ago
under a sky like this
we lay together in your flea-market fur
dreaming wild dreams out loud

I never knew anything could be so soft
nor meaningless things ever mean
so much

we were coming apart at the seams
back when friendship meant more than anything

even cold


Swans in the air this morning
over the ridge,
brought to mind the myth
of the old man of the forest
who scanned the skies for cranes
and wild geese,
translated the language of the trees
and mountains into symphonies
that set the mind on fire
when I was young enough
to believe that
a swan could be a mystical being,
or a man could be reborn.

Oh, for such belief now.
Swans in the air this morning,

And music to transform the day.