Sometimes I Long

Sometimes I long to tell stories in more than songs I want to peel banana soft gold against the teeth Past the green stain of memories and patience sweet I want to write histories of dreams lost in throngs Of ambiguous demands, like walking knife edge, dazed With the pressure of tomorrow. Do you know where I am coming from? Nights that make hope disappear Only the smoke of desire tells where the furnace blazed. My heart want to pour out sorrows, O if the Nile could weep If we could tell our loss together like bantered cross Midas touch made indifferent gold, mine makes but dross Invisible and miserable, and immutable like caverns deep O love illusive, opportunities in abeyance still. What then To do with them, if they come again? It's late, it's late The clock cannot return, one way rolls the train of our fate. Earth's truest histories are lost in the heart of banished men. Sometimes I long to tell stories in more than the songs To take you through the ghetto of my grief, the quicksand Of where good intentions belong, the failed shadowy hand Slipping out of yours, the innocent laden with bitter wrongs, And the atonement bread eaten by crows. O night, veil me Still, for skin is not enough to hide Columbus curse here Dear, dear, did you see in the deer's eyes the sullen dare Of the despondent hunter? Remember me though you are busy.