Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Bob Dylan


I once saw Hank Williams follow a flock of blackbirds
into a dark field. Later that night I saw Bob Dylan perform
in an old barn with candles for footlights.

He wore a white stetson.
The stage was dim. It was an impromptu appearance.
He wasn't on the bill.

He seemed to enjoy his anonymity.
His voice was blue and hoarse.
It cast a spell.

As long as we are in this world,
the past is near to us; we can return to it anytime.
The shape and shadow of things may have changed

but the essence is the same.
In our dreams, we can visit countries we have never seen,
we can speak with strangers as if they were our friends.

Who wants grand possessions that fade away?
Why build walls we do not not need?
Why long for homes we will never own?

We hold the clouds in our hands.
There is no end to what we can see,
there is no end to what we can do.