Friday, March 15, 2013

On The Shoreline Of A Song




... I imagine myself somehow sailing
those lunar seas that are only dirt, dust,
all the way down, all the way to the left,
to Mare Nubium. I imagine
dropping anchor, somehow. I imagine
holding somebody I love, whispering,
“Honey, we’re home, here in the Sea of Clouds.”






The Loch Ness monster lives in and under waves
fluctuating on the surface of Loch Ness.

Can a monster live in and under sound waves?

Notes of a song are pressure waves in the air
fluctuating as a musician performs.

If a monster can live in and under waves
of fluctuating air pressure from a song,
then could that monster rise up out of the waves
whenever and wherever that song is played?

Could a musician dive down into the waves
whenever and wherever that song is played?

If music is deep enough to hide monsters,
I wonder: What else is down there in the depths?

I wonder: Where else is down there in the depths?

I think of places here, like Loch Ness or Mars,
and I think of a bird flying to Neptune
and coming back to talk with me, sing with me,
but what if all these places are dull places
and the shining places are beyond the stars,
not the stars themselves, and the Loch Ness monster
and a bird that could tell me about Neptune
are all in and under the waves of a song?

Songs I’ve written haven’t, yet, revealed these things.

Maybe the next song, the very next song, will.

























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