HEAR ME,
WEARY TRAVELER
ACROSS THE OPEN PLAIN
WHEN THE GRASS
CRACKS OPEN
AND SHRIVELS INTO DUST
AND THE SKY
IS BARREN FROM RAIN
SEEK THE LAND
WITH PALMS WIDE OPEN
THE LAND WHERE
AUTUMN SIGHS
AND SPARROWS SING
THIS PLACE WITH WINGS.
HEAR ME, WEARY TRAVELER
WHEN YOUR BONES
UNFASTEN THEMSELVES
AND WHISK AWAY
INTO THE UNKNOWN
LISTEN TO THE SONG
FROM THE SKY AND SEA
SAYING, 'DREAMERS,
COME TO ME.'
HEAR ME, WEARY TRAVELER
WHEN YOU HAVE
NO PLACE TO RUN.
DO NOT SEARCH THE SKIES
FOR THE SACRED LAND
FOR YOU HOLD THE KEY
IN YOUR VERY HANDS.
YES, HEAR ME, WEARY TRAVELER
WHEN YOU ARE TIRED
AND YOUR BLOOD
TASTES LIKE BITTER WINE
RUN YOUR FINGER
DOWN THESE HONEY WORDS
AND DIP YOUR MIND
IN VINEGAR.
FOR THIS LAND
WILL WELCOME YOU
WITH OPEN ARMS
THIS LAND
WILL DECORATE YOU
WITH POETRY
AND UNKNOWN CONSTELLATIONS.
SPONGING YOUR TONGUE
WITH THE FORGOTTEN DREAMS
OF WRITERS
WHO SUCCUMBED TO MAGIC.
OF PAINTERS AND POETS
OF MUSICIANS AND DANCERS
OH, BRIGHT-EYED CHILDREN!
THE PLACE OF WINGS
SOUNDS LIKE
A THOUSAND FEATHERS
MADE OF SILK
LIKE AN ANGEL CHORUS
AND YET STILL THE MURMUR OF
A NEWBORN BUTTERFLY—
THE PUREST IMAGE
OF AWAKENING LIFE.
"WELCOME HOME."