NO SONG

Lord of the green new song,

I have no song in me;

There is nothing new that I have to say

That my brother can’t say instead.

Lord of the light-hearted songbird,

I have no flight in me;

I’m grounded by my bitterness of heart;

There’s a hardness that I can’t shake;

Tormented by all pleasures

And by all thoughts of man,

Chasing the sound of high and wide regard,

Leaving still waters.

I’ve been eating ashes,

And I know that I’m dying.

Lord of the pure white snow,

There’s nothing pure in me;

There is nothing good that I have to say

That’s not overflowing from the source.

I hear your birds sing with ease,

They know their song, they sing it well;

I listen closely studying the ground,

Mute on the grey curbside.

My song has frozen over,

And I know that I’m dying.

So may it be recorded here

That I truly have nothing,

And any green from me

Is a miracle of resurrection.