After McGuinn

Somewhere someone’s sleeping
             don’t know what of
             don’t know what about
someone suffers crucifixes
for too many boulders rolled,
some pebbles are sleeping lonely
while horizons go unplundered,
a child’s cry to the night
through air scorched with dry shadows,
men placed on trial
for daring to breech whispers,
deserts grow ice,
mountains roll up thunder,
rivers dry in tears
while laughter’s choked to parch,
eyelids are uneasy
when souls go not remembered
beds become half cold
while sounds are placed on paper.

Somewhere someone’s sleeping
             that you can be sure of
             that you will know about:
because a voice is a shadow
and without the sun it’s lonely,
words can sign like a candle
making gods quite not happy –
             a hum like the whistle
             wind upon a butterfly
             circling over a strange planet,
             the thoughts of a water bead
             preparing to assassinate mountains,
             the breath in your fingertips,
             grape pleasures for the drowsy,
             picture box reality set on the fence
– eyes can burn in sand
while fingers go on itching.

Still somewhere someone’s singing
             someone knows the song
             you imagine the chorus,
    somewhere someone’s singing
             don’t know what of
             don’t know what about:
sometimes words are right
sometimes words are wrong,
spider webbings joined together
to make illusions fancy,
             visions to be our saviors
             unless they become our masters
             with dress rehearsal of their plays
             placed upon our stage –
                  brothers of the wind speak
                  among the friendly snowdrifts
                  or a horseback and its kinsman
                  gallop toward the rainstorm,
                  stars for the horseback’s memory,
                  rivers for the rider’s feet.