Take off your pajamas and your funky-shaped glasses and your memories,

Lose your rocks and your totems and your moments,
Take away your grief and your back pain and your sore feet,
And
What remains?
Besides for sober eyes that see to tomorrow
Washed in Pirene till they’re soaked with truth
Grazing and gazing at the clouds till sky squirts lemon in them.
Or until you get a cold.

Escape your memos and your papers and your prayers,
Shave off your snores and your shivers and your peach-fuzz,
Scratch away at your scabs and your wrinkles and those bags beneath your eyes.
And
Look up.
What do you see?
Besides for the rains of April leaving to dazzle May
Cherished by sky who wishes them well
Telling them to drip on noses and make puddles for rain booted children.
And to warn them against giving anyone colds.

Smash your alarm clocks and your wine bottles and your funky-shaped glasses,
Put to bed your cologne and your skin-care and your clenched fists,
Strum away your halo and your notes and that jazz in your mind,
And,
What do you hear?
Besides for a silent rhythm keeping time by the tapping of the rain
Carefully following sky’s baton who composes just for you and your sober ears.
To keep you comfy if you get a cold.

Then you’ll find that you are alone
in a scene ripe with color
and filled with tomorrows that beg for you to hold them.
So take them by the hand.