They say the sky is too far,
And the earth is right beneath our feet.
Then I must be a star
Sent to live on earth, or an earthworm
Marooned on Jupiter,
Or a species, extinct and obsolete,
Or a spirit with a forgotten memory
In human form,
For I converse with the moon,
My sky corones my head,
And the urban asphalt is too cold,
Too dead,
My earth talks with my soles.
Find me a road that winds with the mountains, soon,
I want to fly,
This is how my earth meets my sky.
And let's gather every new moon,
My friends, under the pinewood poles,
And play music like God is listening,
Or just to make the faeries in the trees dance.
Let me shape this dewy clay
Into my figure,
How do I look today?
Like light? Like a new chance?
A chance that sprouts anew from yesterday,
Like the flower in early March, glistening
With winter's melted snow?
And every full moon, a loving kiss,
And the whole world I so well know,
Becomes an embrace.
They say the sky is too far
And we are always late,
And their endless tales of how we fell from grace,
Yet they are too scientific to believe in fate.
Never on time.
Ironic, the untuned guitar
I hear when I pass them by,
Their songs never rhyme.
I saw Time in court pleading innocent,
I wonder what time they think they are racing.
They say it is too far, the sky,
But clouds play at my feet..
My sky meets my earth,
I can take a photo of them together, dancing.
They say,
I believe.