If you drive out through the farmland far enough,
eventually you'll come to the villages of four-bedroom houses,
and this is where I'm from.

At night, sometimes, while I'm back visiting you can hear me say,
"O Birdland, my how you've grown. But all the while
all the places that line my memories remain."

Now us children are spread from shore to shore,
on different land carrying different flags.
Now Birdland, waiting, grows on;
stretching to reach for the lost and the wandering,
shifting, unsure of what is missing.

"O Birdland all the while, all the houses
that inhabit our past remain."

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A year without finishing anything
Identical twins with different faces
Wires connected to every answer: trip trip trip
Then a click and it’s all sky sky sky
Everything you’ve ever wanted, just above
A year without poetry

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I’ll love you from vantage points and Haziness
        mountains permeating my thoughts but still undeterred
It was all hands to shoulders and smiles
        a group of thoughts that won’t seem to go away
,     , I love you,
        There is no more time.

Morning song is dawn and gray and cool and black.
               It’s six a.m. or five to five
               But you’re not sure just where you’ve been
               And you feel gray and blue and black.

There are thoughts
              And five (to five) or six of them
Aim at where you are and show the distance
              To where you want to be.

Morning song is done.

Morning song is fog, maybe not, and the owl
              (or whatever is living in your roof) knocks repeatedly until
There is nothing left to do but stay eyes open

Calm reserved no surprise cross this plane
Stick to your words unless they’re wrong
Time is left until you stop.  St. Thomas’
Eyes are scanning my face again, but I
Give in and look to the side.  I am no
Longer a man, I am keys I think of hymns
And monsters coming from the collecting
Mass of the damper pedal being held down.
My days now start at seven a.m. and end at
                Midnight I eat and breathe with a schedule
                Now twenty-four keys to mess up. But through
                All the tire and through my haze here is where
                I realize I can’t stop smiling. So what is left
                To say but thank you for taking me? Thank
                You for teaching me. And I hope what
                You give to me I can give back.