We are more complex than we know what to do with,
And we are more beautiful than we know what to do with —
The only necessary erring,
As we know,
Being the inevitable failure to process
All this beauty,
All this possibility,
All this urge to kill and all this
Urge to find a reason,
Floored into specks once
Again
By the sea shore floor.
.
Music lies in this impossibility,
And as long as its our song
The dandelions see in the sun
And envy,
Then music will ring throughout the land,
And we will all stand in the light.