it’s good to have music

the morning glories nourish gratitude
as long gray shadows crawl beneath the door
the frying fish evokes my childhood
in house of waiting—quiet raining dark
the holiness in holding baby girl
in swaying her in front of shining mirror
the soft of smallest hands unshaping me
the cooing, “You are just the smallest one”
such humanness this morning, sun and wind
old fashioned tune that waits for time to pass
I run thru golden woods columbus day
while yelling, “why’d you kill the Indians?”
I scare the dogs away, then run silent
I’ve flown off roads so long, it’s time to ride
to shine like dancers, Boston musicians
and make it home to what the wind has done
the lifted river’s torn apart the signs
I’m held by trees and shapes of yesterdays
belief in ten dollars, in rain angels
the heart of music, dreaming ghost wishbones

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