Bill Frisell
By Bruce Bond
I played a folk song once
so long into the night
it came apart.
I was a child.
Clouds passed.
Their little jars of tears ran dry.
And the song in my hands
grew more spacious.
Sweet as oxygen
and therefore sad.
Bones appeared at unexpected angles.
They said,
find light
and lighter handles,
the emptiness
needs that.
It misses it.
To be the star inside a river.
It needs to be told,
your questions
tell me you are listening.
I love that.
Go on, child.
Take these toys and tell the world.
