Shield my eyes from April's glare
Because now that you're gone, you appear everywhere
In fresh seasons that struggle to grow
Through the last kernels of dark, hardened snow
But all production halts; we don't resist
As gods withdraw their remaining services
And bands dissolve. Leases terminate
A great silence then descends on you
Until the birds explode from the branches up above
Darkening your path only briefly
Then leaving you the canvas of the sky to reconstruct their movements in your head
And each street then accumulates these ghosts
Because art is not a luxury...oh no, no
And it must proceed undeterred by all unconscious opposition, anyway
Thoughts scrawled on discarded receipts
Or backs of cash-handling procedure sheets
On unpaid breaks, in highlighter pen
Until the senses overload; a fog rolls in
And then arriving home so tired tonight
That I don't think that I'll bother to write
Though the press of ideas, neglected like this
Will find expression in dreams... dense dreams
Where the birds explode from the branches up above
Darkening your path only briefly
Then leaving you the canvas of the sky to reconstruct their movements in your head
And each street then accumulates these ghosts
Because art is not a luxury...oh no, no
And it must proceed undeterred by all unconscious opposition, anyway
To be no longer just a vessel for our hungers;
Or, at least, transform these hungers into
Something bright and astonishing that nourishes itself. Yeah
And then the birds explode...
Birds explode from the branches up above
Darkening your path only briefly
Then leaving you the canvas of the sky to reconstruct their movements in your head