November 28, 2007

Dear Bob Dylan,

Once the last ray of sunlight dissolves over the McDowell mountains and the grey of evening is tossed like gravel over the horizon, it’s no small wonder that I should look to the sky for those first few stars to appear like praying cells and the moon, that oyster which shines like a mission bell.

I find, after so many years, the same inner visions.  I follow the path of your dreams.  Wherever you turn regardless how awkward, restless or profound.  Despite obliviousness toward my own stale and imminent future.  Devotion to you remains my fate.  Nevertheless.

Seems to me you will always be the fuse, the one in action that enters the room of my mind, your face full of faculty and asking so what are your intentions, what are your interests?  Inspired for the trillionth time this year by your sufficiency with words, I will step into the same river twice.  A flood of answers will cloud my brain, most of them quite ordinary.  Just sentences.

So I will come to myself, beneath this sky which is for all its expansiveness still keeping the stars locked behind and mention, well, I mostly just focus on the songs.