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It May Be Time Again
by David Matthews

The moon whispers a name that could be mine
Or tell me who I am, in the dark rain
And ruin of this temple, with dreams that haunt
And follow me to the graveyard of memory
Where the markers are too faded to be read.
It may be time again to take the next train,
Pack up my dreams, and move on down the line.
It may be time to turn my gaze away
From this dim, gray, yet glimmering landscape
That calls to mind a country church
Atop a hill, silhouetted against the evening sky,
Echoing Wagner in a ragged parade
Of mouth harp and cello, as darkness comes
With the close of another weary day.
It may be time again to take the next train
Bound almost any place that takes me far from here,
Somewhere night is bright with stars and mystery,
A melody from grand plazas of cities of the South,
Lima, Buenos Aires, coffee at a sidewalk café.
It may be time to paint my passport blue
And breathe the thin, cold air of mountain poems
That run green with delirium hope.










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