So much is found in this place,
a vast pipe organ of sound
on a stage set with twinkling lights,
open space, thundering bass,
lemon and honey in sunset's dust.
Here are the eyes of little children,
here are blue butterflies,
openings in warm earth,
cloaks of starlings around
purple minarets.
Here is my hand, take it.
I am not an actor or painter,
musician or director.
I am a herald of the Island,
where all is born.
Come, I will show you
the little glowing gears
behind the source of tears,
and the hewing of the Raft,
at the wellspring of years.
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