Gene Williamson, For You
You’ve become a friend from afar,
Thanks to the way you diminish distance
With generous and quixotic asides
On what you see and hear and imagine.
(Were we to meet, we might
Have trouble shaking hands,
With that ink-stained quill glued to yours!).
You’re caught in a rough patch.
Yet, even mired in it,
You go on celebrating life.
In restless nights you try to sing
New songs inside you,
As words that are their wings elude you.
But all your other words
Are a flock of never-nesting swallows.
Exulting many-tongued melodies.
And we are lifted by your voice.
With you, we rise on the updrafts
Of impossible imagination,
Become bright-hued fish in azure water,
Morph into pirates on the bounty,
Debate the ancients, chase skirts
And roar raucously at life.
We await your new songs,
When they are ready.
But, know this, dear friend:
We already hear so much
And go on listening.