Time is falling fine-grain dust
That gathers underfoot

And must be ever trodden down
Else turn to suffocating soot.

The lungs of those who cease to move
From worldly long exhaustion

Freeze up with gently longing groan
For some hope to warm the frost in,

And those of younger, stronger heart
With old and weathered faces

Who spent their years in diligence
To learn of all life’s races

Gaze back at them in sympathy
Though time steadfastly separates

Those who would love and who would sing
From those who hesitate.

A reaching tree with swaying arms
That gently cradles moonlight,
The curve of each embracing limb
Seems to whisper calm reflection.

The gathering shades
of night’s blind substance
Tremble nearer in velvet hush
To brush against that moonlight
And warm their wandering hearts.

The ground below seems not to care
But softens its dark folds
To comfort she who hides beneath
In wordless sympathy.

The moon above shines over all
And casts out pale connection
That binds these travelers,
lost and fallen,
As time fades, forgotten.

Call me the wind,
Call me the breeze,
Call me the river
That winds through the trees,

For that is how
I’ve lived my life,
Going where time
Seemed to say was right

With no promise made
To foreign tradition
That rose from voices
With which I had no connection,

But trailing after
Ribbons abroad
That seemed tied
To some more perfect thought

And left their tails
Streaming after
As across the wandering
Minds they roamed

Leading the whispering
Listeners home.

A hunger!
For some formless thing...
Some brighter form of passion

An instinct
To be burned, if it would
bring the soul to meaning

An impulse
To move with hands and arms
To grasp impermanent heat

A desire
To be overwhelmed,
Beyond thought—complete.

Bright-eyed sassy creature
On a rampage all alone

Fills the night with monsters
And calls himself at home.

Their coarse fur and rugged growls
Defer him not an inch;

He throws his arm around them
And begins a choral cinch

To bring them on a journey,
A quest of epic scale,

To rescue zookeepers from jazz
And humanity from the pale

Of monochrome maturity,
A re-run with color melted

That traps unwitting minds
As we’re pressed into service

Between the pages of a moldy book
That churns history from the grind.

A ruby or some cheese,
perhaps a stingray too,

These things will surely do the trick
To bring life back to you.

A quest to find them—take my hand!
We’ve got to go today.

A tea towel for a map
Will send us on our way.

Simple but surprising,
That’s the magic bit:

It doesn’t matter if we reach the end
But you’ve got to take the trip!

Trust the honesty of nonsense,
You’ll find there was a door

Back to the easy smiles you knew
in childhood before.

That’s it my friend, you know
we’ve come right up to the end.

But there’s something bright within your heart
That he showed you how to win.

Even if you walk by day
Among those chalk depictions

That we call work and jobs and life,
You’ll keep that ruby hidden.

To bring a shaman back to life
A magic stone is needed,

And it’ll work on you as well:
The tale’s all but completed.

Let yourself take joy in nonsense;
The warmth is worth the escape.

Reality may be dignified
But it’s not a friendly mate.

Dance with lonesome polar bears
But don’t look crawfish in the eye;

Join our campfire of gentle madness,
We’ll sing a wholesome lullaby.