Bruce Cockburn Follow

High above valley
Above deep shade colored with the calls of cuckoos
The ring of coppersmith's hammer
High in the hiss of the wind

Wind filled with spirits
And bright with the jangle of horse bells
After a crisp night crammed with stars
It's morning

Over the scratched-up soil, scorched-earth wasted
Long shadows lead women bearing water
I watch the sway of skirts
Think of moist spice forests

Too many pictures swirling
Vertigo momentum of civilizations
Threw me too far over this time
Simple landscape

And I hang here in this mountain light
A balloon blown full of darkness
Got to let this ballast go
Got to float upward 'til I burst

Weavers' fingers flying on the loom
Patterns shift too fast to be discerned
All these years of thinking ended up like this
In front of all this beauty, understanding nothing

Rhododendrons in bloom
Sharp against Spring snow
Remind me of another time
In Japanese temple

There was a single orange blossom
At the wrong time of year
Seemed like a sign
When I looked again

Weavers' fingers flying on the loom
Patterns shift too fast to be discerned
All these years of thinking ended up like this
In front of all this beauty, understanding nothing