I remember and forget
and remember again.
When all the mystique of idiocy
Has rubbed off life
Like gold lacquer from oak,
I’ll forget so wholeheartedly
(Or remember so completely)
That I will forget to not dance
And remember my home
Beyond memory and forgetting
– the place where you are waiting
With your hands of milk and stars.
I know you are waiting there,
But I’m too fascinated still
By the twisted mirrors in this hall.
I know the sun is shining where you wait
And the air is sweet as only
Coming home can be.
One day, I will go towards there,
But, I will not be there to arrive.
Only my dancing:
The footsteps of fire on water,
The everlasting bird that flies through the Earth.