People

People (©A. Calhoun, 2013)
You wake worn out in the morning from working in your dreams
Where the story’s always ending, but the pining’s never done
And pigeons strut the temple where the goddess goes nude
And squirrels steal the birds’ food
And the gate to the garden might be open, but there is no garden

Your brother’s friend Brian, calm as Buddha,
Works a 7-11 counter
And you don’t need to see him often to know the truth won’t soften
I Am That I Am will not abandon you

Annie totes an herb sack with roots from here and there
She’ll cure your ills with teas and spells if you know enough to ask her
Annie has a sore back
From totin’ round an herb sack

Jack sits on a hilltop and sings
He could’ve been this and he could’ve been that
But underneath that hat he certainly is Jack
And all those wise, sweet words
Don’t touch the root of gall that feeds it all
And Jack sings and Jack sings and Jack sings

The church ain’t what it used to be
Is a hymn sung everlastingly
As if God were a feeling, or light itself were failing
Shout, Sister Dinah! Lift your skirts and circle darlin’
Don’t you feel the morning falling
The world ain’t what it used to be
Is the hymn sung everlastingly

Johnny poles his boat to shore full of fish and something more
Johnny pass the basket through, fish are good and so are you
Fish are good and so are you
Johnny paints into the night, beauties yellow blue and white
Portraits caught from memories, urgent song of wind in trees
A woman frames a mindful dove, in the silent sound of love
Johnny poles his boat to shore, full of fish and something more