In the eye
We don't look each other in the eye, you and me,
We turn away,
Each to his wayward, inward self
Wrapping the vine of our attention
Around the twigs and brambles of an inner thicket.
In there dwells the mockingbird,
Deep and sweet in songs of imitation,
Shortly on to something new,
But always borrowed.
Can we sing our own songs, you and me,
Those notes so dearly won, from places we don't go?
Are there musics we can offer one another,
Eye to eye,
Without the fear of criticism or despair?
Come, let us lay hands together
On the loves that lie between us,
The chances we deny, and push away.
Let's be together here,
Loose the garments of conviction,
See the color of our costumes clearly,
Pull the briars off our tombstones,
And revel in a fattening-day
Where the saints stop marching,
And begin to dance together.