The wind that blows between us

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The wind that blows between us

    can be illusion; can be a light

The home that either is not there or is.

The whole world hangs in the balance

of a simple coin toss:

    whether the light flicks on or off

    whether the walls are black or white


Oh, the vision passes over me in the electrocuting air –

    I've never met you

    I am driven to my inner edge at your despair –

You are a voice that's in my heart – more and more each moment

    we join through to thought

    – it isn't real, this dream

    holding hands floating down the riverstream –


The wind brings the world in a basket of chocolate fruit –

    you never know where's the worm,

    the snake is companion evermore –

    I will not cry or scream but keep still and learn –


I know this life it never ends once you set off on down the road

    of how history bends

    and, lo, it is reborn to go on in the living picture again


The wind blows it all back and forth

    between us – every state of being

I spill my heart open without fearing

    what you will say or if I am a fool –

    you were sincere, so I was, too,

    but in your despair the curtain drops an inch or two...

    oh, stranger, stranger – do you recognize me still!?


I am so happy to be in your story your play your illusion

I call it that, cowardly pacing at its gate

Everyone has in common the dream that the dream will be real and true

It never ever happens, but it will happen for me and you.


The wind that's between us has not yet faded to lull.

It's still up in the air, whether all this was fated.

Do we even need to meet, or can we do this from afar?

If I ever saw your face, well it remains up in the air.


A metaphysical object, the coin.

A perverted take on the human heart....

    The coin is spinning

    The wind is blowing

    I'm not picking up all you're putting down.


A man always has a secret compartment to himself for his despair,

When I see it I rush forth to drown out its silence in rattling rapacious sound

as if I hadn't a room of my own where I sit and write about all of my ghosts

when you are happy, we are happy, sailing on the blue wide sea.


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