written on May 11th while listening to “That Next Place” from “Meet Joe Black”:
When everything is soft
And all the lines are blurred
Like when someone spills water on the calendar and all the ink runs free….
When you don’t know what you feel
Or where your interests end
And alternatives are exactly what you cannot see…
The door of your heart is pushed open and a hand discovers yours.
A silent poem begins to write itself.
When someone becomes a trumpet to your muddled mind and with one breath
blows all that ink back into place,
The vacuous forces are made to rest
And you’ve never felt so new.
If the clarity in your concert hall of a heart echoes this strain of freedom,
you have found that for which everyone else is looking.
Or, more correctly, it found you.