Strata
I. Labyrinth
She crawls out from the ruckle
holding a cup and a thread.
Her wet face wets the red stone
trapped in that bedroom.
Now I weep in front of her father
in a Baptist church in Tennessee
kneeled behind the wooden pews.
Lo! That maze we were made in.
II. Ridge
Circle back along the ridge.
How much of this can I forgive?
This place used to be my home,
but now the streets look funny.
I swallow my past.
I'm living the dream,
hoping it lasts long,
but there's not much more I can cast out in front of me.
You asked if I knew the way
into the moonlit cave.
I pick up your cup and thread
and start to feel like Jesus.
But I'm so far from myself.
Place that wafer in my mouth.
Lead me into the Jordan and
tell me this is my body.
III. River
I left it all at the threshold.
Let me die, but not die out.
Hold me in your arms,
but teach me how to go without.
I never wanted to be a father,
tongue-tied and spurred on up that mountain.
With the cup in my hands,
lift up, lift up.
I bury my ring in the cold earth,
down in a hollow that now grows pear trees.
You know I've been looking for symbols,
gone lost in the thickening.
My mother said the Lord speaks only in mystery
and I've got half a mind to tell them all off.
Oh, hold on, hold on.
Raise up your hand if you remember
Still Half Asleep or last October.
Know that the moon was full that night,
look up, look up.
He was standing beside me.
See him lying in the goddamn street now.
I dip my hands in the moonlit river.
Drink up, drink up.
Drink up, drink up.
Drink up, drink up.
Drink up, drink up.
Drink up, drink up.
IV. Cave
The whole mountain trembles,
and I've let the cup and thread go.
Within this stone I kneel...
Within this stone I kneel...