A note of thanks to you whenall is said and done, for the little cowboy,for the sonata, for the now and againshimmer of sun that reinstitutes, reinvests.A note for the surprises I ask you to safeguard from melest I marry them to my grief.Take care of me in my blindness.Teach me to say a prayer when I am out of words.Remind me that hope outlives the flesh.
Give me that happiness I said would straighten me out.And if I have already had it, forgive me.I offer you these moments here in front of mewhere I am less beleaguered than I was --moments you gave to me. I am through being fed upwith returning your gifts. I give you back everythingyou gave with the incarnate music you wantedwrapped around it.What you want with such music is beyond me,the lace of tears, the jewelled warbling,the hurts hosannaed on a moonlitnight of stars,the scream at death, beaten into faith so simpleit wound around a girl's head like a ribbon.
I admit finally, my footsteps are not my own.I surrender, as I did to all great things, to the plausiblefabrication of your hand.I dream of little cowboys, many of them,all happy to find a campfire at night with the increasedconsolation of your voice in wind and whippoorwill.
I will walk today into the empty sojournof my life and look forward to the nearest streamand that nocturnal conversation between uswhere I offer you my tearsand you will raise them like a river betweenstars and stars.There's not much more this heart wouldcare to divine.This note of thanks I place somewhere at your feet,a man on the planet.