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| m. hébert |
George Harrison
the notes burst upon me
that winter night,
his voice a powerful frailty
telling me it's all right...
from the icy air,
from the diamond stars,
from the marble moon,
from the far away,
this time machine song
came from everywhere,
and unbolted all the years,
just one among the thousands
on the soundtrack of my life.
the seasons of grief,
piercing chords of pain,
a howling, wailing, searching, screaming
saxophone running with the tears,
the hours spent talking,
with Joni's jazz
a bright, smart chorus
in support,
the lone wolf prowling,
tracking carnal prey
with cohen roughly growling
deep inside,
the shy school dances,
the album white at Christmas,
cruising in cars,
clumsy seductions,
wrenching rejections,
heartbroken reflections,
every note and every stroke
soaking into me,
symphonies and songs
cellos and guitars
tearing at my thoughts,
shoving them away
leaving only feeling,
filling me with knowing
and dreams of the day
of the night
of the any time
that I will make my own,
my fingers on the white and black.
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