Charcoal mist eats away
the sweet, sweet sky
that warmed our skin
Fierce fire consumes the past
and the future,
leaving ashes and driftwood,
scattered beaches, strange signals
We return to where we were before
guided by touch and free wine,
leaving the bread behind
There is nothing to see here,
as memories fade into
dusty tunnels where we wait
for something to happen
And someone sits in a bedroom
not knowing why he is weeping
or where he is going to
A man with metal legs limps past:
his father destroyed the house
and disappeared
Death and decay loiter in the shadows:
the poet has a broken heart
and forgets
to speak in tongues
But there is joy in the mountains
and a pathway in the wilderness:
women are filmed dancing
in empty rooms
loving the rhythm, hoping
for the doors
to be flung open