the gentle bees are giving rides to professors

So sing out loud like the sunrise, sing and roll down grassy hills

let your rolling fell tyrants from their lofty heights. Think of incredibly

small golden boats made of pollen with sails of dreams that navigate

the eyes of young women, giving them visions of Paris. Their parasols

are really giant flowers and the gentle bees are giving rides to professors

who are laughing at the ideas expressed in the movement of poppy fields filled with

the orange fire of the first night I spent with you-that night where everything

was one and you were one and I were one and there was no such thing as this or that

or them and – everything was us. That was the time when a happy motorcar stops

in the middle of an intersection to just feel the warmth of the road beneath it. This

happens more times than we know. So why do we worry about this world?

Think of this; somewhere on an overcrowded street, there is an old woman who

has made friends with the rats in her walls. She calls them children

and they call her mother. They are very happy family. This is not a flight of fancy.

The rats have dances and the old woman plays her accordion. It is a grand

affair. And the time spent together is a warm blanket

of laughter that keeps the winter in exile. STOP!

The subway is a long story that repeats

itself over and over and some rider listen with a hundred ears while others

sleep through the night waiting for the curtain to rise,

not seeing the horses of morning running through the streets. They sleep;

for the dreaming is more real than the waking. Is this true for you?

I have no idea, all my ideas went down in books that would not float that

slowly tumble towards foreign shores where one day a little boy will find

them and by finding them build airships that will take him to see the moon

rising over pyramids graffittied with love poems written by old

Rabbis who now understand the futility of some memories.

Can you hear the two Japanese gardeners in the Garden

of Gethsemane that cheer and clap

at the empty tomb. I too am waiting for the applause that

accompanies spring time and your lingering laughter


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