06-13-2016, 12:02 AM
I painted out the sunshine with a brush of broom and briar
but the birds still sang above the sage marquee.
I tried to listen downwards where the silence used to be,
in the places where my footfall stopped, I lay.
The scents of life still sifted up through cloying clay below;
damply, like a dream that wakes but why, you never know.
I heard a pulsing heart that was mine but seemed too grand;
it was loud and sounded closer than my senses could explain.
Blood rustled in my ears and beat drums made out of hay
and this was how the music played, a bitter symphony.
No sweet guitars, no violins, no angels singing in the wings,
no song from you, no perfumed hair, no brushing touch,
no warm, moist kiss…I painted out the sunshine yesterday.
After a Van Morrison/ Ray Charles Concert 1996
tectak June 1996
but the birds still sang above the sage marquee.
I tried to listen downwards where the silence used to be,
in the places where my footfall stopped, I lay.
The scents of life still sifted up through cloying clay below;
damply, like a dream that wakes but why, you never know.
I heard a pulsing heart that was mine but seemed too grand;
it was loud and sounded closer than my senses could explain.
Blood rustled in my ears and beat drums made out of hay
and this was how the music played, a bitter symphony.
No sweet guitars, no violins, no angels singing in the wings,
no song from you, no perfumed hair, no brushing touch,
no warm, moist kiss…I painted out the sunshine yesterday.
After a Van Morrison/ Ray Charles Concert 1996
tectak June 1996