I slide into the refrain.
And ages pass.
The songs fill the seasons
giving hue over hue to their skies,
digging through their layers of grey and blue,
doing nothing but passing like ribbons and wings.
How can wings dig in?
What air can sink in like a stone?
Establish a river?
It’s not the words only,
not only “Blowing in the wind”
and “Like A Rolling Stone”….
it’s beyond the lyrics and the tunes,
maybe even beyond the blue in the blues…
The swish of a breath if you like,
both grasping and volatile
light and persisting like a butterfly.
In the wake of some god’s smile,
look at his eyes, how they follow the tune
inventing a further season’s mood.