I.
The name…the name…

They call me by name…

Always the villain

Always the same

Always the same old bloody game…

 

So I will be the one

Who calls you the wind

Instead;

 

For the wind is nameless

As all are nameless,

And all are sometime lead

astray.

 

You do not need a name,

My dearest friend;

I am not going to call you

anything at all,

no,

What good will it do?

When I have need of you,

I will say, “You! Come!”

And nothing more

And nothing less.

 

II.
It’s that bloody way they say it, John!

They say:

Oh, Mr. Walker.

That’s enough now, James.

Perhaps now someone new will speak?”

I want to be alone John

I want…

I

God…”

 

Come!

You musn’t be alone

You won’t be; come to me.

 

The breeze is howling through the night

Looking for its pack;

The wind blows past my face—

He is cold.

 

III.
What single man across the Earth

Should progress, then, in solitude?

The wind must blow

with rain—

and the wind must go

unnamed—

If we give the wind a name

will it stop its summer cool

and wind into a hurricane?

We musn’t let it fall behind.

Instead,

Let it come to be at ease

among us strong and rooted trees;

 

Do not give the wind a name—

Just let it run, and run,

and run, untamed.

 

IV.

Let us talk, then,

Of Mr. Sarte

Who is obliged to think

That any human might reach any human

 

A lunar vision has no consistency

It lacks a final form—

Always changing, rearranging…

But in the hear and now

We look upon its light and

Bow

Not for how it changes

And rearranges, but rather

how it hangs

in every motion every step

every second of our being

 

Tell me, friend:

What are you seeing?

 

Mr. Simon – another breed,

Spoke to you and me

Of Kings and Pawns

When comes the dawn

                Encore, friend

He played a few more songs;

We laughed and sang along

Brittle were our days—

Burnt out were our ways

Was thought consumed by every action

Worth it for the best of all?

The mind consumed by every footstep:

Destructive, given full to crime;

Women, men, child of time

opt instead to slave to dime.

 

Let the bell chime—

Man is responsible for man.