a million footsteps whispering
a guitar sounds -- some voices
sing
smoke on the breeze -- eyes
that sting
far in the east a yellow cloud
bank climbs
stretching away to be part
of tomorrow's time.
earthbound while everything
expands
so many grains of sand
slipping from hand to hand
catching the light and falling
into dark
the world fades out like an
overheard remark
in the falling dark.
light pours from a million
radiant lives
off of kids and dogs and the
hard-shelled husbands and wives
all that glory shining around
and we're all caught taking a dive
and all the beasts of the
hills around shout, "such a waste!
don't you know that from the
first to the last we're all one in the gift of Grace!"
(Ottawa 9/3/76)
Marco Giunco |
Work | Basket | Music | Words |