It is bone and skin that ages,
not the spirit, not the heart,
to my comfort, that is something
I have learned.
Looking back, so much was built
that was later burned.
And on the roads, so many faces
were not noticed, were left forgotten
and were spurned.

I may pass you by a lamp post,
sit beside you on a train,
together for a moment,
and not see you again.

I watch a tornado tower
and burst out from my brain,
lash the land with its tail,
the clouds blacken with its stain.

Shakes, uproots a telegraph pole,
proves that I can still feel,
rouse a tempest from my soul,
relearn the truth that love is real.

And when it has passed over,
like a farmer from his battered barn,
I come out with a hammer,
to fix a broken fence,
watch the children laughing,
running through pools left by the rain,
for though the strings were stretched,
they still took the strain.

Listen, I can sit calmly now,
the head of the hurricane
has hurled itself to hard silence,
and all the worlds remain.

You are not in my tree,
and I am not in yours.
The sky is no shelter,
and the ocean has no shores.
There is no true harbour
where a ship safely moors,
but there’s reason for this tornado,
love stirs and is the cause.


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