I was in Okinawa,

Like a million miles East,

When…finally I spotted

The forest for the trees

By then, it was all unresolved reverie

Had I really known that old oak tree…or

Did I block-out iz finer warm subtleties…that

Were very well guarded as some puzzling means?

The gold ingots in iz satchel, the hint of valor

In iz quiet moments & more intent looks? 

Did I wait too long to read well

Between the lines in iz books?

So, I only have that now beside the fire

As my son & I chop logs into firewood

Beside the new morning & evening tides;

Inside the noisy-rhythmic halls of my mind

The guitar, the love, the lyric, the moments of doubt;

& it’ll have to do I suppose.  But oh, I used to shout!

I used to shout so loud that the trees would bend,

Leaves would quaver & the neighbors lights

Would flick on…then off again shortly.

But those hours have become warmer now,

It’s been nearly twenty years though;

…still not quite enough time somehow. 

……..

Hey, son, wana have a catch in the woodside meadow?  

~~+~~=~~~~~~~~

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgkkvtVuBDE