beyond these mapped-in routes gravel labyrinths extend
everything unfolds before your worn souls.
stray hills breathe fog into a bottomless bowl of stars
overarching a lost house that never was built.
I have heard the children sing sweetly in blind fields,
seen the man whose hanging still swings from the tired trees,
the farm's dogs all bark when the screen door slams
but the windmill is fixed in a knowing stare.
He landed in an airplane in the green pasture and the rain
let him sleep inside that night, he left a miracle behind.
Is he nearby standing in the doorway?
Is he in the dirty air, is he still inside me?
Some nights there is only emptiness.
Other nights there are tiny bits of evidence.
He left his white wings behind the backyard toolshed.
And the corn grew like weeds wherever he'd wept.
everything unfolds before your worn souls.
stray hills breathe fog into a bottomless bowl of stars
overarching a lost house that never was built.
I have heard the children sing sweetly in blind fields,
seen the man whose hanging still swings from the tired trees,
the farm's dogs all bark when the screen door slams
but the windmill is fixed in a knowing stare.
He landed in an airplane in the green pasture and the rain
let him sleep inside that night, he left a miracle behind.
Is he nearby standing in the doorway?
Is he in the dirty air, is he still inside me?
Some nights there is only emptiness.
Other nights there are tiny bits of evidence.
He left his white wings behind the backyard toolshed.
And the corn grew like weeds wherever he'd wept.