I wanted to be afraid of nothing but the windows in the clocks, the crystalline shards raining down on moontime meadows, swirling slowly slowly sacred and free, turning flowly flowly into the deep. I wanted to hide in June, I wanted to hide in the blankets, I wanted to hide far away in the hills and stars, away from the cars, away from the cars, in the arms of wintertime in a field of snow, in a gentle garden where cabbage grow, and tomatoes that mix with arsenic that make a poisoned sweet, we gave the tomato honey to a corporate priest, a million dollars gives you a lot to buy, and I never thought I was going to cry, as I swam around in the poolside deep, heaven is a pool and a nice cold drink. I wanted to be afraid, of nothing at all, but I am afraid, I'm so afraid, I'm so afraid. The face of the corridors closed on the sun, and soon Venus couldn't see anymore, she was blind, and flying through the sky at a light-years pace, is a lot harder when you can't see where you're going, when you can't see the Earth to your right or Mercury to your left. The Earth was on my right, there was the ground, I was on the outside floor with my face pressed in the dirt. Cold wet clothes and sprinkling rain. What was I doing there with mud on my face? How long had I been there, lying on the ground, how did I get here, how did I fall? Slowly I got up, hiding from nothing, hiding from everything, and it was June it was June. I needed lemonade, but there was none in the fridge, I needed a cold walk in the quiet, but the sun wasn't listening. I needed to be afraid of nothing, I really did, but the sky wasn't listening. Can we drink lightning, drink it like rain, or was there a taste, yesterday yesterday. Rolling in the stained glass covers you in rainbows, just like painting with watercolors. I was quiet once on New Year's Day, and it was sunny outside and there was snow on the ground. Has anyone ever drank lemonade on New Year's Day? Walking down the streets of Times Square in Manhattan, with a bottle of lemonade, where time stands still, where time stops, where it goes backwards and forwards and sideways and slow, sliding into the calming other side, please don't regret the way I was whispering, it was only because my voice was so loud. I really have trouble whispering, because I'm so happy to be speaking out over the hills. There's no such thing as a loudspeaker where I come from. Where I come from, you have a voice, you have the stars, you have the wind, you are afraid of nothing, you are afraid of nothing. You have your blood and your heart and your legs and your tears, you have orange juice and magnets and the whispering clocks. They put you to sleep and you swirl forever and ever. I was back around to where I started but I had slept a million hours. And I was so well rested. I lay my head on your arm and we just sat there quietly, afraid of nothing, afraid of nothing. That's always how it was with you. And I couldn't wait to lie in the clouds, so I fell through the wisps all the way to the earth. And that's where I landed and that's where I lay sideways with mud on my face. What if lemonade ran through your blood, could you run fast through the streets of Manhattan, afraid of nothing, faster than lightning, liquid lightning in a can, that's why I ran that's why I ran. I ran because lightning flowed through my blood, and it was lemonade, and I wasn't gorgeous but I liked the trees. The face of the sea whispered to the boardwalk, and the sea spray drifted over the wood like so many teardrops of flowers. Scattered spray in the rainbow sun. Can I hide, can I run, can I run in the sun. Is it June? I can't tell. You were a little late, but that's okay. The calendar doesn't count in seconds. I wasn't afraid of the ticking of the watches, the golden watches, glinting in the sun, but I was so afraid. And really I didn't want to be. I didn't want to be yesterday,  I didn't want to be today, I didn't want to be in June, I didn't want to be on the tower under the moon. There something fell, was it an umbrella, was it my spirits? I couldn't tell. But as it drifted down on the wind, I forgot how to breathe and how to count to ten. You were there standing in the rain, quiet and dressed up like it was church for a wedding. You were so beautiful, you always were. I didn't want to watch out for the stars falling from the sky. I want to be there under the stars, as they fell down around us. The stars fell down and the music played, it was a symphony of rain, it was a long time ago that the rain fell on the tin roof? When did rain first fall on a tin roof? The first time, the first time it ever happened, a long time ago, thousands of years ago. Was I there? I can't remember. Was there suffering then, was there need, was there fear? Were they afraid, or were they afraid of nothing? Afraid of nothing like me, I am afraid of everything. I am so afraid, I am so afraid. No it wasn't yesterday that the plums fell into the lake, no it wasn't the day before that either. Maybe it was a hundred years ago. And the lavender bushes gave off their fragrant breeze, and the suncatcher danced in the wind, catching the sun for all of us. Do you know that they used to have to collect the sun? They would fill up containers with the sun, and they had to collect it and keep it safe. To use for everyone, for everything, to power the world, to light up the world. Can I light up the world? Or am I too afraid? Afraid of nothing, afraid of everything. I really would love there to be nothing. I don't want to be here anymore. Because the sun doesn't cry and the rain doesn't laugh, because there aren't puddles anymore, and there isn't paint, and there are no angels. Where did all the angels go? I don't know I don't know. Yesterday the springtime drank the spring, the cool clear spring, the running water flowing over moss and stone, sliding down the slopes and under the bridges, the cool creek, where life begins. Can we hide in the sound of the bubbling brook, and be there forever, relaxing in the sound. Is it June yet? I can't tell. I dropped my calendar in the river. I wanted to be afraid of nothing, nothing but the ruby red stars and the icy candy bars, nothing but the freezer near the tennis courts, nothing but the sound of tennis balls hitting against the surface, nothing but the icy drinks clinking in their glasses, sunshine glistening in the ice, and I could hear nothing and I could hear everything, I couldn't hear what you were saying but I could hear the ice in the glass, I could hear the quietest rustle of the leaf in the magnolia trees, I could hear the pool fountain a mile away, I could hear the girl crying in the fourth story with the balcony, or was it a boy, was it a boy, and I could hear nothing, and I could hear everything, I could hear the rustle of the carpet as the air conditioning played out across the soft fabric, and in the other room there was an argument, and the people were shouting, and this might have been in the city, or in the next city over, and somewhere in New York the water was drowning it was drowning, swirling down the faucet sink, around and around like the whirlpools in Greece, and I could hear Odysseus a thousand years ago, calling out calmly over the Mediterranean Sea, on his Odyssey in the noontime sun, but what if in fact he wanted to run, run away run away, run far away to a Seoul hotel, where it was quiet on the backsteps and a worker sat listening to music, inside the world of their headphones on their fifteen minute break, as Odysseus came strolling over looking for something new. Would this be something new? Could they even understand each other? I don't think Odysseus spoke Korean. Particularly not modern Korean from thousands of years later. Do you think he spoke Japanese? Do you think he spoke French? I don't know if she did either. Would she understand him, or would he keep walking by, through the back door, and give her a small smile on the way by, and into the kitchen where swordfish was cooking. Would he steal a little fish and eat it in the sun, just like back in sixth grade gym class. Inside the kitchen in this hotel in Seoul I could hear the refrigerator running and the oven running and the smoke and the grease and the calls and the feet, the feet of the workers moving around, pots and pans and not a single shout, a spoken word here and there, and all I wanted to do was prepare, prepare for when I could hear again, and when I could never hear again, and I could hear the rustling of the fives and tens, as a cashier in Morocco counted the change, a coin fell to the floor and rolled away. I could hear a whisper in Rome and a storm drain in Peru, I could hear a bell in Virginia and the drying of glue. I could hear the girl crying on the balcony and the sound of the rain, as it danced across the surface of Lake Champlain, I could hear the church bells yesterday counting up to twelve, ringing out over the ancient streets of Perugia. I could hear the sound of a camera shutter clicking in the next town over, and in the other room the TV was playing, maybe it was a movie, they were speaking in low voices, and I strained to hear, another world away, they were speaking of paperwork. I was speaking of victories, yesterday in the bank, and I was hearing a voice, on the other side of the telephone line, from the mayor of Maine. It was whispering, and it was speaking of the past, back when they didn't have to worry so much, back when the flowers whispered in the wind out on the balcony, back when the wind chimes played so quiet and sweet, back when they needed each other, back when they wanted each other, back when they were afraid of nothing, when they were afraid of everything, when they could find joy in finding a hummingbird's egg, because they were together, they were together, and under the painted sky I suddenly cried, and why did I paint that sky with watercolors, because as I cried the colors rained down on me and streamed down my face, tears of paint and electrolyte rainbows, I couldn't wait I couldn't wait, they spoke of victories on the radio, but I didn't want to win and I didn't want to lose. I wanted to fall dissolute on a poolside chair, and think as folk music played in the background, on that radio where they spoke of victories, and glories, and triumphs and grace. Is Grace a name? Is it a song? I heard a song once in a car. They sand of sadness, and losses, and tragedy and tears. This was in Ontario, and the British flag played in the wind as it stretched out from the side of the roof of the hotel as we passed by. Can we go back to the times when taxis weren't yellow, when the sky wasn't blue, when watermelons were golden and we went to the zoo, we showed our faces to the vanishing wind, we counted down from one and from ten, we twirled around in the humming of the sea, we slipped into the sighing breeze. Out into the night on the balcony under the stars, and it was a boardwalk, and there were no cars no cars, twinkling lights strung out along the coast, and it was the land I've known for so many years. I've been here for years, for decades, for so many Junes, for so many glasses of lemonade, for so many pieces of ice, for so many blades of grass in the whispering meadows. Can we hear the voice of a flower, can we just pass the hour, juts like this, just like this. In the sparkling sky I drank the bubbles of creation, the bubbles of blue sky and cloud and fizzing sun. I drank the sunset and I drank the wind, I counted down to one from ten. Zero swirls in the halls of the courts, echoing tile and stark green shirts, gold pieces raining down on the floor, your eyes like silver and your voice like the sun. Your lips spoke the truth of a thousand years and I listened to the hush, a sigh in my ears and calm in my lungs. I didn't want to speak, I wanted to listen, I wanted to listen to you for a thousand years. If time stops in Israel do the clocks feel it in San Diego? Do the grandfather clocks feel it that look down from the mountains over the icy lakes, do the watches feel it that float around on the streets, on people's wrists and in jewelry stores, can we go to a jewelry store in June. Can we ask the gold watches if they feel it. Do they feel it too. Time stopped on the day the puddles ran sideways, and watercolor spilled across the face of  the earth, out into space like a sideways glass, and slowly I fell to sleep in the arms of the sun. Can you hear the hush of the sun? Could you hear it yesterday? It was so nice yesterday, did you feel it too? I want you to be happy, and I want to be happy with you too. I want you to be happy, and I want you to want me to see you happy. To see you happy and to see you crying, to see you sleeping and to see you waking up. I want you to want me to be with you. I want you to want me, I want you I want you. Why do you not want me anymore, why do you want to hide from me, hide from me for a thousand years, hide from me for a million years. I don't want to be like the moon and the sun, always hiding from each other, always sliding across the sky at the other time. Why can't the moon and the sun be in the sky together, why can't they be together? Am I the moon or am I the sun, are you the moon or are you the sun? I don't know and I will never know. I don't think. I laid my head on the glass and I just thought, for a long time. The window slid out into the sky and opened into a world of suntime meadow. I fell asleep. Please don't cry, sun, don't cry tears of ice or beams of rainbow. It was a little late but the clock kept ticking quietly, as the windows of the apartment opened up onto the boardwalk. The air conditioning was quiet and the sheets were blue on the bed on the bedroom. Out over the sea on the other island you were sleeping, you were dancing in your dreams, slowly slowly turning by the sea. It was raining and the drops fell on your face. And you liked it so much. Was I there? In ice cream there is a chemical called vanilla, that comes from the shores of the moon, thousands of miles away. Have you heard of the moon? Have you seen its glowing white light? It's so beautiful, just like you. The piano played out an even melody over the winding plants of the garden, and it was June, and the birds were singing. I wanted to be afraid of nothing, but I was afraid of everything, I was so afraid, I was so afraid. I wanted to be afraid of nothing and drift around in the pool, I wanted to be afraid of nothing and breathe deeply so smooth. The books in the library weren't speaking, but they were speaking, so quiet and loud and happy and proud. I could read their pages from a thousand miles away, the smell of the pages dancing like the fragrance of lilies, the joy of eternity. I wanted to hide in the blankets and read forever. The breeze played across my hair and I felt like it was May. The revolving door went around and around, all brass and steel and silver and gold, a beautiful creation, just one door, in one building, on one street, in one city. Look out over the rooftops of the stars, look out over the clotheslines and churches and streets and fountains. It was the day that the sky would show its face to the sun, and the air all around would turn inside out so cool and warm and clear. It was nighttime, it was daytime, it was rejoicing in the streets. Gypsy scarves and resolute skyways, slowly slowly dancing like icebeams, jumping around like festival doves, pouring rain, flooding rain, flooding the streets. It was rain on the wedding day, the earth couldn't wait, it was rejoicing rejoicing. Nothing was so golden as the cold of the snow, so white and clear and that's where I was sleeping. In the soft soft snow. Nothing was so wonderful as the sigh of the stars, in the realm of the sky, in our hearts, in my mind, starshine in your blood and the path by the sea, running by the ocean deep, whales deep below and waves all around, running on the shore unaware of the immensity so close by, and I was afraid of nothing, and I was afraid of everything, and the sky was so dissolute because it lost its birthday, it couldn't find it, so it was crying, it was crying, and rain fell all around, fell on the brass doorknob outside the Golden Hotel, fell on the soccer fields downtown next to the bank, fell on the flower beds in the garden of a stranger, or was it a stranger, is there any stranger, am I a stranger, are you a stranger, am I a stranger to myself, do I know myself, the rain fell on the wooden porches and people in the streets, the rain fell on the wooden benches and the rabbits under the trees, I need you, I need you, I need you like the rain needs the flowers and the flowers need the rain, I need you and I needed you, I want you and I wanted you, I need you I need you, the rain fell on the poolside umbrellas and it fell on the unhappy statues, it fell on the docks and the windows and the cars and the telephone poles, on the telephone lines and the petals of flowers, on the place where lightning struck seventy years ago, on the tree frogs and dewdrops and the reflection of stars in the lake, that's where the rain fell, that's where the rain fell too, I was always late, I was always late, but there was the rain, there was the rain, it fell on pianos being moved and the wings of doves, it fell on gumball machines and people's shrugs. The rain fell on books left out on the table and on clothes on the clothesline, the rain fell on earthquakes and starquakes and crumbling church towers, it fell on the Tower of Pisa and bottle rockets, it fell on marbles in the grass and golden lockets, it fell on candy bars and newspapers and coins and steps, it fell on fire escapes and wintertimes, firesides and summertimes, chimneys and lambs by the brook, sugarcane and little nooks. I wanted to taste the sunlight but they said that was impossible, but just a taste, just a little taste, and maybe I would be happy. Maybe it would taste like honey. Honey flowed from the icicle glaciers and I just stared, for a thousand days, for a thousand years. And I slept, for forty hours, for forty days, for forty thousand years. The stars have been awake, for millions of years, do they sleep, do they dream? I think I would want to swim around in the dreams of the stars. I was  a little late but it was okay, you were there. And I was afraid of nothing, and I was afraid of everything. And I drank the drips that fell from the melting icicles, and suddenly it was a stream, flowing into my mouth. It cooled off my mouth and it felt really good. And I fell asleep, with my face pressed against the window, and I felt so good, and so calm, and so safe. Resting against the glass, so asleep, so asleep. I love sleeping.

Don't forget the sound of the dripping water
That slowly fell onto the tile that day
The words fell in slow motion from your lips
And hours later the water still dripped in the silence
As you sat and stared at the wall

It's so dangerous to think that the sunlight is going to win
When it loses it feels like the world is covered in an icy mist
And for just a moment the wind lingered on the doorstep
Before continuing on to further and further lands
But in that second the cool breeze felt cool on your cheek

I remember that cheek of yours I think
I remember everything
I remember when I couldn't remember
Which is always
And forever and forever

Forget all the insistent lies of the mountains and the mysteries
Cradle the summertime in the hands of the clocks
And the shoes that cover bare feet
Tap tap tapping down the dusty cobblestone streets
And clap clap clapping like old amphibian speak
The frogs in the streams
Croaking at night
The sound everywhere but they're out of sight
Out of sight like Roman castles
Driving in Rome is such a hassle
Snaking through traffic like a renegade bike
Red light green light blue light white
Fruits tumbled down the steps
And into the sink
White doves flew down for a springtime drink
In the halls of summertime the ocean is the chorus
The churchbells ring in the echo of the seashells
I listened to a seashell sitting on an airplane
And light years ago I was dancing in the rain
Memories float like Saturn in the sea
Drifting into the glassy gleam
Sharp as a knife the crystalline shards
Fracture and splinter and break all apart
The icy remnants of icicle hotels
That the hermit crabs live in
When they leave their seashells
It was many months before the spark reached Paraguay
Sixteen months until the kingdom swayed
And let out electricity to all the earth
The waterfalls flowed, the gates in rebirth
The stained glass windows revolving in time
A revolving door with tinkling chimes
And I was listening to the sigh of the sea
And wondering where were the whispering trees
If it was easy if it was easy if it was easy
I would have done it long ago

And their hands were in their pockets and their heads down against the wind
And instead of twelve the clocks were counting back from ten
Was it the past heading into the future or the future moving into the past
I really felt like the future was my past

So in seventeen days I'll be on the moon
In seventeen weeks I'll be mumbling tunes
In seventeen months I'll be crossing the shore
In seventeen years I'll be at your door

It was the same door all those years ago
Do you remember do you remember do you remember
The earth remembers
I never remember anything

Sixteen glasses of orange juice spilled on the glass
And through the orange puddles you could see through the glass
The sleigh bells carried off into the distance
And a millennium went by in a moment and a moment in an instant