The singer lasts a season long, while the song it lasts forever.
—Jan Harmon
Because I cannot be the song,
let me be a singer,
because I cannot be the tree
that burns gold, gold, gold,
then let me be the one who sees it,
and since I cannot be the clouds
unzippering the sky, then let me be
the one who praises them,
and let me be the heron with its
awkward wings and grace despite,
but if I cannot be the bird,
then let me be the one who sits here
quietly, though I am being rearranged,
and let me sing, oh let me sing,
though I forget the words, though
the song is only borrowed, let me sing.
I love this one!
I like the back and forth of this one’s logic, though I do not understand one line:
“though I am being rearranged” — I think I’m missing something. Are we back to the song? A rearrangement of the song, etc.? Anyway, it seems an odd line for the spot where it occurs. Without it, the poem finishes more gracefully for me.
Mmmmmmm. You say it so well…. as always