And when to do it, but that is not
The way it goes," said one smiling
Horsewoman to another, as they smoothed out
The sense of freedom allowed
Under the bluest of skies.
The horse wants desperately to be led
But he most assuredly won't take direction,
So the dance goes on, as it always does
Even on the Day Outside of Time,
The neutral threshold, between who I am
And who I will be
Where I finally received my rhythm section,
Saturn and Uranus — a boy and a girl —
To accompany me, and squeegee
Pandora's Window so no light gets dusted.
There is no dust tonight.
Even the tree bark is blinding.
The crows take pains to complain
About the rock n' roll I play, that is
To say, they dig it perhaps too much.
There are other songs their craws reach for
In the light that makes them translucent,
Places more authentic and more whole
Not those of the barroom-bound blues hound
Flexing his string finger, but the loftier curls
Of finding not losing the harmonics,
Not the wrench out of experience's sweetness
But the gathering of codes, through petals falling
In sunlight to your fingers —
Who you are is not in being abandoned
But in living on, in spite of the bass
That ever-mournfully turns you down.
Any bird can play the mouth harp,
Feel the pain of being lined up
For release
But how can the notes lift higher
Than the dust beneath the angels?
The copper cowbells help to hypnotise
The horse, put him in a trance, so that
His stride stays on the higher road,
Nothing but a blank sheet of blue to interfere
With the call to be who he is,
No longer irascible or resistant
But cantering with the carousel horses
In the sky, towards what is to be,
What he envisions
As the frequency agrees.
Confident now that nothing is missing,
There is no separation from source,
Not the slightest pause
Before acting as a God
With all the angels
As his personal choir
To egg him on continually
With all the questions and concerns
Careful love throws over one
Like a warm blanket
On the cool
High road
Where the figure, to others
Cannot really be said to be real,
Just a dream in a matrix no longer glitching
But moving forward freely,
Not even forgetting,
The fleeting present is that strong.
