Bill Frisell

I played a folk song once

                   so long into the night

                            it came apart.

                   I was a child.

                                      Clouds passed.

                            Their little jars of tears ran dry.

                   And the song in my hands

                            grew more spacious.

                            Sweet as oxygen

                            and therefore sad.

                   Bones appeared at unexpected angles.

                   They said,

                                      find light

                   and lighter handles,

                                      the emptiness

                   needs that.

                   It misses it.

                            To be the star inside a river.

                   It needs to be told,

                                      your questions

                   tell me you are listening.

                                      I love that.

                               Go on, child.

                   Take these toys and tell the world.