I'm walking on the clouds
as stars come and go--
morning crawling up behind
while dusk ever sets before.
the homeless eat their picket signs,
while the rich gorge on their gold.
I feel their voices and taste their words--
which are foreign to my ear.
Letters jump and dance before me--
mimes trapped in their own cages,
while the people drop and crawl,
afraid of the sun above.
How can they not see... their own souls?
Where has intuition fled, and compassion...
how has it been dismantled?
It all burns in a sudden ray of sun,
a blast of lightning.
It dies under the fist of atom explosion.
The first man. the first woman.
Life again. From the beginning?
What sweet fruit will save us now?
What sweet, rosy flesh will spare?
Of all its gifts-- intuition, instinct--
his light... our light.
His light alone... molded into skin.
Silver matter flow, mold-- enter me
and feed the cells he made.
My feet. His feet, fragile as they are
take me across the sand and into the sea,
where water turns to foam... and foam to cloud.
I wander the skies--
the lonely below once again searching.
Glitter on black velvet sings its lullabies
to weary children who dream
on concrete and pavement...
to they who wander the clouds,
following the morning behind me
as dusk follows them.