The City, The Cycle, The Cafe
Revisiting: a point in the past
An imaginary moment in the mind
When I want to find a previous self
And ask forgiveness for my sins
Wood grain on the table
Black porcelain cups
Cables and Coffee
Typefaces and Tea
When the winds outside had weathered my light down to an insecure wisp
And the Oakland-sunwashed windows could not find me
The finest tiny fireworks fueled my return
On all acoustic frequencies the singing fires delivered
A song of all stories and forever:
It is cold, and it is true that you are alone.
When you remove all of the fixtures, there is nothing here.
When there is pain, it is because you feel it.
When there is sorrow, it is because you know it.
But when you see the sun that rises,
When you hold the face of a lover,
When you look the man in his eye and see his secrets to tell him he is not alone,
When you move fast between the pillars and trees and people and machines,
There is something here, and you are not alone.
The sea is older than you, and the tides go in and out.
You are a small part, and this is a revolution.
All of time is your time, and all the revolution is your revolution.
And my light becomes known, again.