Autumn has not come and built a room.
The windy hills are not less mighty things.
I-75 is not gathering in the gloom.
The windy hills are not less mighty things.
I-75 is not gathering in the gloom.
My eyes are not as willful as the rain.
I do not think the ground has touched the sky,
(my heart is not a blind, unseeing thing.)
I do not think the ground has touched the sky,
(my heart is not a blind, unseeing thing.)
Far off like hills that beckon blood to fly,
the high and windy leaves aren’t what they seem.
They are not there to make me wonder why:
the high and windy leaves aren’t what they seem.
They are not there to make me wonder why:
only in sleep do I approach the dream.
The high and windy hills of Tennessee
do not retain the echo of a scream
The high and windy hills of Tennessee
do not retain the echo of a scream
I did not propagate so suddenly
to wrap around the world (and build a wall.)
I analyze its abscence – just to see:
to wrap around the world (and build a wall.)
I analyze its abscence – just to see:
the world, it did not spin here like a ball.
These things – they did not happen here at all.
These things – they did not happen here at all.
- Spring, 1991
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