To Sally Eckhoff Fabulous transcender of the mundane With love
Whom will you cry to, heart? More and more lonely,
your path struggles on through incomprehensible
mankind. All the more futile perhaps
for keeping its own direction,
keeping on toward the future,
toward what has been lost.
I am a pilgrim and a stranger
Traveling through this wearisome land
I’ve got a home in that yonder city
And it’s not (good Lord it’s not) not made by hand
Sometime in the not-distant future…