A Morning Alone with Syd
The madcap laughs and casts a line into the water;
the hook finds purchase and pulls a rainbow from the flow.
Dead friends walk down a lane
to a point past where the world ends,
bidding farewell to imagined faces as they go.
Giggles dance off the treetops swaying,
leaving rhythm in their wake,
and babies suck on sea green tambourines.
There is method in the madness;
there is brilliance in the dim;
one might wonder why it’s so,
but this world is fine with me.
There is music in the math;
there is stillness in the chaos;
there are melancholy smiles
on faces fare.
There’s a man who points direction,
helping those who need it,
as if to say “You can make it to the end,
if you go by that way there.”
Shepherds march through nighttime trees
leading flocks wherever,
offset shines and shadows
form the path on which they tread,
and aching jaws keep moving
to a song that no one hears
telling a tale to none who listen,
and the laughter echoes silently
on amputated ears.
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