now drift into my dream
where we might teach the world to sing
while stumbling along this illusion of choice
edging and aging toward the prelude of death
so self-absorbed in life's romance
a little song could do no harm,

look into my face and eyes
so i can taste your voice
remember this is just a dream
and sing to me of your lack of choices
in the blowing wind and the ancient seas
of how you stood alone for songless years
in the cold motionless moonless tomorrow
of love and death's eternal straining
to explain one single thing
and i will fiddle my bones of joy and sorrow
so played to put a counterpoint with you
a voice of fugues as any life could sing
(this is something we all can do)
and to this musical effort we bring
the sound of a sleeping fawn in spring
the roar of the distant rolling sea
the howl of war an ill wind brings
the cry of any injured living thing
harmony, dissonance, some notes hard to reach
(incomprehensible, inscrutable, impossible to teach)
the birds, the trees, the dead we intone
and transmute their presence
into the  contrapuntal tone
of an impromptu spiral adagio
flowing with inertial force
so intricate and fascinating
it carries us aloft
with dreamlike chariot power
that divinely conveys
you, and i, and all of its ways
into a clean sweeping of mind
what else can i say?
thank you for your drift with me
we've known each other but a day
yet we've always loved  this way
we dream together so very briefly
then we go to sleep the night away
gone away as gone can  be
and a little song
can do no harm,