You Sell Peace, George.

Forgive me if these words aren’t

A gold-thread pillow case

To hold in my cotton-strand thoughts.

But lay your head down if they are.

How’d you stumble upon this cave

With your flashlight smile and spare harness

How’d you pull me out of the dark

I cannot thank you with anything less

Thanks for climbing and teaching me to climb

Thanks for your smile and lighting the Way.

How’d your breathing sound like the breeze

A gusty push on my back—kept me going.

How’d I not get stuck in your muddy eyes

I’d stepped in them every time they were showing.

Showing me a person I’d like to be.

Showing the reflection of a damn good Day.

And Good Lord HOW

How’d you find me so far underground; did you have God’s map?

How’d you lift me out—I was so deep-pressed down there.

Were you digging for diamonds and found some coal?

You could leave me there a bit longer… then I might shine.

How’d you hold me up high under that Sun who’d been out of sight so long?

How’d you wake me up every morning as a thought in my head?

Did you set up camp in there, were you there all day?

I think so.

And HOW, my Friend,

Holy ohm wonder

Hot-oil wax

Healthy, open westerner

Holding old wisdom

COMMENT, mon ami, comment as tu?

Je ne sais pas—je ne connait pas tu.

This pillow case can’t hold the stuffing in.

Its threads are popping stitch by stitch

Cet amour douce est de plus en plus,

Cet amour je ne peux pas le garder en.

With this feeling… je pense je pourrait faire

Cent mille oreillers

And if you don’t feel the same

At least I’ll still be under the sky

Though it’d be nice to fly in it with you.