I look upon you
four eclipses below,
evergreens and Oaks growing to enormous heights,
and in the quiet still we hear the ocean breath.
The Lord has touched you all over,
brow drips with fierce tears
fragile and decrepit,
If I cannot hold you,
I shall compose the madman's ballad;
and if I cannot see you,
I shall breathe you in me, so that you may distill the air
with your rosy fragrance.
I weep because I cannot see these lovely trees swaying,
nor the gravel that I and many others tread upon-
nor the shine of the sun that's been swallowed by some poor soul.
Wind blows from the old boulevard as I lay upon the Earth.
A murmur is heard,
it says to me-it says,
"With the world and its patrons spinning around,
we'll all come tumbling down and be the ghosts of what was."
I think not you'll miss me,
I've but a soul that has no home...
for it's home was not a place,
but a time.