I had a dream that when you return
I do not ask your aid but first
Lay down a bed of ferns
In a forest clearing
For your healing to begin
There you are
Ambling in the garden
Of a strange land across time
Flowers unfolding around your feet
Brushing aside the vines and heather
Your hands so gentle face so warm
Eyes lifted and shining down a path protected
Invincible marionette of the sun
A child of bewilderment once again
You’re welcomed in for tea with good friends
Who like you have stood outside
Loves gone by
Children falling through their hands
Sand slowly down into the cracks
Mutely the eyes say “Don’t go”
Hands close around
The empty shape of a memory
Thank you for coming our guest
Far too late and so well timed
We cannot turn back having waded the abyss
Waiting on benches for lives we’ve missed
Wandering the wild fallen cities
Devoured by lips we only hoped to kiss
As we return to the blessed temple
Which moves yet will not be moved
Which dies again and again
Yet will not be destroyed
You walk beside me on a country lane
In the changing light of dusk you wonder
Will I recognize you
Will anyone recognize you
A little joke with yourself
Half holding your gut at the punchline
Half wondering what it will mean if we don’t
But I have a secret too
I remember our walks
How they blew through me like
A Mount Washington wind
Jostled my prides from my shaking hands as
They tumbled like pebbles all the way
To the bottom where most things are tiny
And make tiny moves without my concern
I remember when I looked up
Diaphanous wisps rushing past my ears
I saw you spread out like a great living quilt
Rolling bouncing laughing in yellows
All the way over the horizon
I remember when I was dying and writhing
You left notes of devotion at my bedside
Which I clutched to my chest in the dark
So there could be no mistake in anyone
Who discovered me dead
They would know why I lived and so would I
Right there beneath my hand written in red
You knew which herbs would keep pure my pain
Then and when I emerged again in solitary shame
You said you were betting it all on me
Now I’m betting on you to take it up anew
To meander up to some alpine flower field
Bring your guitar along
And in that sweetness under that tree
Point out over the land again toward a story
Even Homer could not put in song
To trust the caravan is coming full of friends
Who will gladly carry in merry accompaniment
What you cannot as you conduct
The drums of our liberation