Each day now I climb into the sheltering tree that lived outside my boyhood window. I am no longer cold and feel no shame when I’m in its branches. You can fault me for being a small “r” romantic and that’s ok. I was a small “r” romantic when I was five years old. I’m not certain I know much more than the boy knew. Knowing ain’t facts kitty kat. Facts include Wilson’s cloud chamber and the Greek alphabet. Up in the tree “knowing” means my body is a string. That’s what music is of course—sensing your body is one of the strings. Every lover is a quarter note, catching up.
Planet of the Blind 