Event. The wind has its
voice. Trees are in the freeway.
Roller derby shove, then sky
Araucana. Shifting technologies
run for explanations. Rain says
I hold you all, I hold nothing.
They’re singing Joni Mitchell.
Five women. The Concert Hall
a Ferris wheel. Holding on
O Canada. Grip for the road
a river to skate away on.
And we’re falling, into words.
There’s a moment transcribed.
Woodstock. She plays the air
in vocal trapeze. The audience
a mirror of peeping hearts, palms
half a million strong. Feathers
on the winter night. Getting back.
Traveling, traveling, traveling.
Home. Out of the city, humming
Big Yellow Taxi as we come
to the bridge a truck has gone over.
Oh, I could drink a case of you darling
and I would still be on my feet. Always
as long as a life as short as a century.