On Hearing Annie Lennox
A prairie full of flowers,
a whisper full of rhythms,
a mirror full of faces,
a mountain cloaked in ragged glow,
every one a rarity
designed in mystic fever.
Here music summons silence,
here longing is allure
and touching is an art
and dancing is a language
and searching leads us one by one
to stories all our own,
and to stories told in common.
Here smolders spirit
rich and ripe
with promise, peace and legend.
There drums yammering in clearings
where we are jamming with justice
who was wild once and captured
and has broken out again.
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