Licensed CC-BY-NC-SA.
Are we supposed to dwell
in memory?
My thought says no,
but when I sit
out here in conference with
my wise and silent friends
the trees, then memory seems
enough.
A breeze that stirs
their branches stirs
a world inside me;
I’m self-contained,
I feel I’ve lived
enough.
Guitar propped up,
I rest after some songs.
Whole lives were in them,
songs are perfection,
incarnations of pure spirit
that follow lives in flesh.
How many lives
can one man have?
I feel I have enough
of life and songs
to fill the gentle valley of
my soul.
Then let us speak of gratitude,
so close at times, like God,
we may not see it.
This sky, these trees,
this valley, these songs,
this life of motion
now all still—
what more?
