The rocks are like a clarinet
and the open air that moves
between them is the breath
of what I hope is a musician
making something for themselves.
I pray there’s books of cosmic
knowledge on their shelves
that I could never understand
with the combined and total
wisdom of my ancestors
held within me and released.
I want the window to be open
and the sunlight to be something
so beyond us it makes our light
look like the darkness in comparison.
The sound of horse hooves
is the only noise outside the music
from the others like the player
going everywhere at once
without a limit on the distance
or the time.
In only waves made in the fabric
like a bed sheet hanging loosely
on a line out on a hillside
in the summer time
when everything is bright
and so alive.
That is who I think should finally

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