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misunderstood and disillusioned |
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i go on describing this place |
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and the way it feels to live and die |
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the natural world and whatever else it's called |
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i drive in and out of town |
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seeing no edge, breathing sky |
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and it's hard to describe |
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without seeming absurd |
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i know no there's no other world |
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mountains and websites |
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dark smoke fills the air |
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some from the fire in my house |
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some from me driving around |
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i could see the lights of town |
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through the trees on the ridge |
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on my way home in the dark |
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i meant all my songs not as a picture of the woods |
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but just to remind myself |
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that i briefly live |
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the gleaming stone of the moon in the sky at noon |
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there is no other world |
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and there has never been |
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i still walk living sleeping |
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life in the real world of clouds |
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clawing for meaning |
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still when i see branches in the wind |
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the tumultuous place where i live |
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calls out, revealing |
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can you see the river in the branches |
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and know that it means you will die |
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and that peace is returning? |
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can you find a wildness in your body |
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and walk through the store after work |
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holding it high? |
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i've held aloft some delusions |
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from now on i will be perfectly clear |
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there's no part of the world more meaningful |
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and raw impermanence echoes in the sky |
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there is neither knowing |
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a constant sound in your ears |
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end and beginning |
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a pile of brush |
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the fog on the hill |
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standing in the parking lot, squinting |
