History without any dates
 
 The clouds are not the story I am
of the rocks I am
with the tide I am
in my Greek village I am
history without any dates
 
My friend is bedridden and
we speak unseen to each other
through his open window he asks
of the world beyond he wants
to give me his spear gun
the Hellenic sun falling into
the fine dark sea
 
I devour the fish but merely
sip the amber retsina
my tear-stained eyes beguile
the nightfall of amethyst and
smoky quartz
 
Don’t open that trunk of music!
My whole life is in there.
 
Bees guzzle the death of cyclamens
at odds with the olive wind
dark stars eat each other like chapels
eat the rock the candles the frescoes
the dusk

I smell ouzo in these pages.
 
The rocks have beautiful faces.

So Many Faces and None
 
 
I am fado I am the loneliness of all souls the rainy souls of loneliness I am the longing in the thorns the scars the string that bends snaps slices bleeds and cries I am tears falling in ancient black wells and farewells never ending
I am fado I am
the longing
 
sweetly vengeful relics nip at my heels, but I am faster
 
like Pessoa I write listening without feeling the sounds of the street disquieted by my gasping snoring living my dying my dreaming
 
an angel is an angel anywhere, but more so on earth
 
singing on the dank street corner singing at the bright river’s edge singing in the blue chapel singing as the planet dies
 
sails and sun feathers unfurled the birds are not angry they are energy they are
 
I imbibe copious clouds but I’m still so damn thirsty
 
being a non-being in a non-world like non-clouds I am so many faces and none
 
calcadas light my dark walks bright gravity to my foolish fancies where I dance like I haven’t a cure in the world
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

This song is unique in that it is the only track on which I play the mountain dulcimer. The instrument belonged to a friend who lent it to me for the sessions. (Soon afterward, he sold the dulcimer in order to buy a deer rifle.) I had owned a dulcimer many years before and had a basic knowledge of how to play. The flute on this track is one that I purchased from a Choctaw maker from Oklahoma. It has a beautiful, clean tone which, in this song, brought to mind the lovely cascading notes of the call of the canyon wren, which Nikki and I always delighted in during our canyon adventures. The title is a play on "Renaissance."