I know a house built of all white wood
which hangs barely on a bluff above an
asphalt sea. I swam there a long time ago,
so come back with me, let's get up and go
and you can feel the waves lurch underfoot
in their own frozen way. They're smaller now
than yesterday. But I don't care, besides
to swim you'd have to tie up your hair, and
look we've already come far. Can't you see?
Can't you see? The captain sailed us toward the
West, but I wouldn't go, no I have my own
quest to head back to weathered memory.
The waves lurch underfoot in their own frozen way.
They're smaller now than yesterday.
But we're here at my old house, no
more sailing left for us, just notice
how it hugs the hill. In the center of
the driveway, you must have seen the lotus:
It is a great big tree and the branches
crack outward in a hundred writhing ways
like the brain widening in disarray
to capture dreams on breezy autumn days.
The waves lurch underfoot in their own frozen way.
They're smaller now than yesterday.
Enough of this stubborn sea. Real water flows
and I know where to go. Come down with me,
down the hill under the charming lotus
tree and swim in this stream from my childhood.
Don't you remember how the water, cold
as ice cream on your teeth, sprung out
from magic? The awe should not be old.
The chill forced life in me and made me bold.
The waves lurch back behind, and frozen they will stay.
They're smaller now with everyday.
I'm heading forward now to the stream's mouth,
where muck pools out of a plaster pipe. There
I saw you last, years ago, picking worms
up off of the concrete when it rained, and
putting them further up the creek
past all confusion.
I stood and watched you, but when I went to join
my feet went in another direction.