it must have been light
that invented my mind
the light terrorizing my eyes so
that I walk obsessed by beauty
I am trapped inside the circles of time
they grow and revolve in my tissues
it must have been love like a pocket of darkness
like the gravity that is so simple
that we can't understand

I see you
Laird of Tanera Mòr
shaded scotsman
misty on the dock
I hear your skirling pipes
threading salted air
silent sound which cuts
and tops each bouncing wave
music on the bridge
between the living and the grave

Curtains blow
through tight closed panes
not a breath of wind
but the shape remains
no breeze has settled on my windowsill
outside the sleeping world is still
and yet those curtains wander where they will
I turn my back on flowered fingers
and try to sleep
but the feeling lingers

The roots of art
are often buried deep in childhood pain
every flower needs a little rain

Become a (wo)man of peace
help the world, be content,
it isn’t up to governments.

Celebrate your free heart
in grateful virtue and
with modest speech.

Soothe the ever angry,
invite them in and dare trust;
be proud equals not at odds.

With new friends welcome,
double joys by sharing,
save the planet by being happy