Sunday, September 05, 2004

. . . needed to . . . wanted to . . . decided not to . . . there was the ancient banished scholar who in his youth fled hiding in the streets - sleeping in the ghetto by the river during the day . . . his time had come, the gods determined, and though he longed for the mountains it was the sky which beckoned . . . the northern sky of artic dreams and a forest of hidden saplings . . . he thought he was alone yet the sound of drumming was never far off . . . someone very gaunt and thin was playing or ready to play or had just finished an unearthly music . . . like heaven maybe . . . years ago he had dreams now lost in the blue and the blue green . . . further ahead it rained . . . he could have sung but didn't . . . could have danced . . . a fragment of text floated by unspoken . . . the wind whispered goodbye . . . into gold . . .