chance is there of making dreams
the mind and hand working together?
the end of rehearsals for a larger life
are stuck sometimes with common revelries;
dropping out in the ocean
only the promise of another vaster day.
is our campfire returned to ashes,
air is asleep in the trees. The notes
the song have dissipated unflinchingly
the stars; the surf is now a ribbon
sound. What is left after the feast
the empty cluttered tables
one more memory?
seals and birds have gone to their rocks
we to the warmth of our selves.
need is there now to light the sky,
shout into a deep sea,
offend the slumberous deities
by one wrapping themselves
the solitude of world without myth?