Lyrist’s Lament

Riptide radio pull me home again
these cold concertos sweep in starlight
sleep in sodden, sweaty nights
My lips have written epochs!
My songs have called the glaciers!
You strain your eyes to see
a landscape recorded
in deftly fingered chords
These cords can bind
no longer lonely mandolin
You child
with the countenance of sunlight
You blind
like freshly fallen snow
You’re blind my beautiful
You see and see and see
but psalms are writ for listeners
and the thumping beats you love
so dear thump-thump the mortal tenor
Mortality is no song to which
my lover dances
Goodbye my simple Simon
Don’t bother to write.