To be awakened by moonlight.
To be taken from suffering.
To be carried to a night so blue
it seals the wounds.
To hear the salt of healing like the boil of waves retreating.
To change the words to another
song, to just one song, to every song.
To feel daylight leave the earth like a yellow wind.
darkness turn silver in the veins.
To leave a trace like frost on the lip of a cup.
To know we are remembered.
To lose every fingerprint in the dust of an
To ride a black mule through rain and night and coal and ash
and ride on into an emptying of
air and light
into hills blown brown and low
into the sea of a north coast
To ride on changed by being
To know, for a while, we are remembered.
To change the words as if we could be remembered.
To stop too soon as if to turn
to hear another voice at the edge
of the clearing.
To leave a trace
fingerprint on the wind.
To heal into death like a song sung softly to a child at the edge
of sleep, who will remember it
like the dream
of a father returning, his hands
to heal the forgetting, to heal
every changed word.