I said – she is touched by fire, the dead and the divine.
Broken wings across the wire, she’s clipped and then she climbs.
And I’m the idiot for hire, saddled at her side.

I can’t shut the door! I can’t shut it off!
I can’t take it off! I can’t take it!

She’s touched by fire. Across the wire.
She’s touched by fire. Across the wire.

Fire.

A toolbox, a screw and set of wires, she’ll take apart all time.
She’s got – a chaos theory mind, she’s capital for crime
We all stand right by her side
And bathe in blinding light.

I’m taking off! I’m risking all! I’m running all! I’m running!

Touched by fire. We stand beside her.
Touched by fire. Across the wire.

Fire.

* Title taken from the book “Touched with Fire” by Kay Jamison.

Quito, Ecuador
January 24, 2009

In cold lines
They celebrate the rites.
And souls try
To conjure a light.

And I stand outside
With unbelieving mind
But I’d like to stand in line
If the conjure were right.

And now it’s hard
To have you in my city
As I question the conjured lights.

Set apart
Here in my city
Do you come to remind?

Old eyes
A face with familiar lines.
So right
But distant as time
And political ties.

I can’t just go along
Much as I might want.
I know I’m different
But I don’t think I’m wrong.

And now it’s hard
To have you in my city
As I question the conjured lights.

Set apart
Here in the city
Do you come to remind?
Do you come to remind?
Do you come to remind?

If could make my peace with you
I could make my peace with all.
If I could make my peace with you
I could make my peace with all.

To each their only call.
To each their lonely call.
To each their only call.
To each their lonely call.

And now it’s hard
To have you in my city
As I question the conjured lights.

Set apart
But with you in my city
Could we conjure something right…

Dec 2009 – Jan 2010
Lusaka, Dulles,
and over the Atlantic.

When we wake up as fragments
In some cubist painter’s mind
And form & function fail and
No purpose to our lines.

Maybe we won’t find faith
Maybe we won’t find God
Maybe we won’t find beauty
Or a particular cause.

Still we need – something to believe.
And we need – something to believe.

We sleep & sleep for we believe
Pictures in our heads
Might be the only peace we’ll find
In lands of cardboard lids.*

Maybe we won’t find truth
Maybe we won’t find love
Maybe we won’t find duty
Not in Bentham or in Kant.

But we need – something to believe.
And we need…

We’re fragments now
Finally breaking out
Out loud.
The logic lost
Comes ‘round.

Living without faith
We are unafraid
And there is still a purpose in the gray.

If there’s no design
No function to our lines
There will be a purpose to our times.
Let us write a purpose to these lines.

And we need – something to believe.
And we need – something to believe.
And we need – something to believe.
And we need…

* This verse adapted from “River”, a poem by Rachel Lewis.