This Is Not A Cloud,
That Blows Across The Sky
In A Stretch Of Time       05/04/1985
__________

Mother, what is this disquiet?
Because I come & go?

Contrary to what you seem to know,
There is no house, here,
That does not have a floor of dirt.

No, I do not **** my thumb,
But, if you listen to your heart,
You will see my smile.

Now & then companion grief does knock.
Here, our chief, he owns the air
And is stranger to none.


Ah, what you seek!

You can find it in the eyes
Of the stranger who rocks your cradle.


I, who overhear the conspiracies of angels…
Do you think I can spread the sky,
Raise roof beams,
And yet have no remedy for tears?

Constant is the questioning.

The happiness on high
Is as great as the grief below;
And yet, where you stand,
They are united.

What is the mystery?


Over the hill a trumpet calls.

Job 7: 9,10