Changing Inside

Through my window you can see a patch of green
In between the gaps in the blocks of flats
Sitting here thinking to myself
It’s funny what you notice when you start to relax
So many days I’ve been on the floor
Since the light of my life turned me from your door
Where all that happened was about as clever
As missing something that’s gone forever

Yes, I see a patch of green. I see green amidst the gray--the jagged concrete--the hard, hurtful floor. I see green in the laughter of friends, and the camaraderie of a dance circle, and the smile of an-other on the occasion of a good joke. I see green in the words, the sea, and the art. I see green in the beautiful, the mundane, the sacred, and the profane. It is funny what happens--when you relax into something new--something from the perspective of light shone all the way to the floor--where I was left.


Down the stairway on the floor below
Madame Valerie hits the bottle when things take a dive
Still it’s reassuring for me to know
She’s been living here for years and she’s still alive
I talk to her when lost in memory
Her story’s one of faded glory but she still has some clout
Woke up this morning with this melody
And the realization that we can all help each other out

Oh the Madame, or the Madame's. They are present, too, I suppose. The Madames beckon laughter, as well as screams. They are full of surprises--at least before they take a dive. I like talking to them, though. I like it when memories get intertwined into balls of forgetfulness late at night, amidst bottles and cold beverages, and open, bellowing laughter. The Madames--of course.



These days I’m walking the road alone
Returning once again to my only real home
Waking up early, staying up late
Reading a book I borrowed from my friend the heavy weight
Finding a new way to begin
Living without but living within
My eyes are opening to what might appear
As waking up to the simple fact that I’m here

It's good--the road. I like it. Staying up late--of course. The momentous only happens when you've stayed up later than is useful--when the expenditure exceeds the usefulness of day, and is wasted in the antics of the night. Waking up early--of course. I have to deal with the words before the sun steals them--before the sun makes me temporarily think it is isn't worth it--before the sun silences the words with its piercing rays and ubiquitous giving.

Living without? That is an interesting one, isn't it? I like living without--living without why and without a thought. I like living on the outside--external--with laughter and charm--with libations and encounters. Living without? Of course--I don't need you--don't want you. Living without? Of course--it's nice to see the things I see when you aren't in my way.




Further down on the street below
I rise above my state of inner sorrow
The fishmonger’s wife she knows about life
Says if you can’t pay today you can pay tomorrow
Think I’d be alright if I could see you tonight
But I’m wondering if that’s really me that’s talking
Lovers or friends it all depends
Think I better let my feet just keep on walking

Further down on the street--the one below me--I walk. It is nice to make headway on this path--to progress somewhere. Seeing you tonight? The thought has crossed my mind, I won't fib. But, it isn't me talking. I know it isn't. Lovers or friends? How about neither? I'd rather be friends with the road--with my feet--with the without. You know? Lovers or friends? No thanks. I'd rather see the patch of green--see the things I see between the gray and the questions; the aches and the bellows. I will walk--continue to walk--and well . . .


Changing inside letting go of the past
Don’t worry
Sometimes we all have to see the light

Yep, the without has changed the withing. It is a good thing. Don't worry--not about me--I'm that one--the one among many ones--but one nonetheless whom it is hard to forget--hard to replace--hard to explain. I try to see the light--everyday, I do. But, not in the rays--no, in the green that absorbs them--in the green that turns them into something different.