Waving From Planes


wish i could play a horn or harp (or something rare)

but i only barely learned guitar

can't feed the fire until you make the spark

has home ever traveled so far


write it down so you won't forget

prepare a version of self

to find on some later date

on a dusty unattended shelf


in the orchard where we buried our dreams

our memories are the fallen fruit

in-between the histories

our story hides a silent truth

in the time it takes to make me (understand)

i will dissolve and form again (die and come back again)


delicate trellis lattice unwind

all the forgotten names lost in the wind

familiar faces learning how to speak

we are passing clouds in a storm


threading through the doorways of days

the head growing hair

serpentine the mind through maze

the sky collecting air


and if it should come to it

i'll save a plum or pear

to share with you when last we eat

and the cupboards have run bare


from where it comes it seems to go

though we canít see what's there

(the pit falls to solid ground and even sinks from there)



Words by travist.paine. ©2007



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