Mariners, wanderers, flyers o’er the fields,
I salute you in secret sorority, for I know, too, the world
Is made of more than endless days and thoughtless says,
Of board rooms, the dow, that Godotian raise.
Oh! I know the tedious glory of sunrise on the sleeping
buds,
Shuddering, breaking, yawning then, creaking into blooms;
The melodies a tree can sing if you listen very closely,
The horns, the flute, the tympani, reaching in to shake ye,
And share- oh?
what? Love/? Or life? or messages
Of… nothing. As the most beautiful thought to ravage you!
And your heart, to call you to things beyond dull tribute
As the ideas so reasoned out, so rigid as what men dispute.
Wild Wanderer, That is my name.
But you can never call me by it-
Twice thunder,
Feral
hunger
…the calling, you see,
I’ll change my form the minute you see me again.
And I’ll laugh, I’ll howl!
With
you, at you, for you. The choice is yours.
For who am I? Who are you?
I
am the greatest against which you can rage
And
that which makes you lovelier still
I
am your deepest longing,
Your
spirit, and your self,
Your
wishes and your falling, your wings, your crash, your help,
I am the stars which shriek at night
Just
to see your face
And yet you slumber
In
disquieted repose
Forgetful of your grace
….come to me…. Come to me… and I promise you will see
a magic deeper than all roses, than all tricks, than any and
every mountain mist,
than the dust you flick at tremendous skies, calling it
sublime,
for I am the birth of all your fears
all your lies
and each and every desire,
and yet all your dreams,
and every prize, and every inspiration alight-
I am never home, and I am always here,
And I will never leave and I will never come
And I will never rest until you are where
I am, my love.
Now open your eyes.
