Today, across a fault, our two sides link.
We recognize one as our song and, in applause, send palms for the artist to cross.
...Now caught in the canyon light,
and mirrored by our river below,
you continue
to carve windows in the sky,
to manifest shadow,
to prey on oblivion,
to seal accident in silk,
and to fuel these orchestrations with the meat of life.
We recognize one as our song and, in applause, send palms for the artist to cross.
Out of silent anonymity, you emerge - an eight-fingered baritone - resonating with the nudity of your steel string.
Heard by some, first-hand, and, by others, through the crevicing crowd, you continue your work.
Heard by some, first-hand, and, by others, through the crevicing crowd, you continue your work.
...Now caught in the canyon light,
and mirrored by our river below,
you continue
to carve windows in the sky,
to manifest shadow,
to prey on oblivion,
to seal accident in silk,
and to fuel these orchestrations with the meat of life.
