Maples and the Stream

Narrator reads "Desire"; no music during this poem; music comes in after narration is done.
VIII. (c) DESIRE
I want to write
no longer with my pen
or on paper
I want to write
in the air
on the ground
with my life
with my mind's eye
I search for
images
with my eye's touches
I process
emotions
with my ear's view
I select
words
looking around
with a 180 degree spin
to the western hemisphere
divided by an invisible meridian
wondering about
who I am
where I am
I toil and moil
endure like a farmer
anticipate like a hunter
I wait for hours
sometimes days, months
for twenty years already
to touch the desire
of a migrating bird
but sometimes
as if I could care less
I turn a deaf ear
to the footsteps of the wind
or give a blank look
to passing ghosts
of another time
and yet other times
I am haunted:
memories of the past
like the needle on an old gramophone
scratching worn tracks
seeking out the locus of music
or like an ant
I follow instinctively
the smell of a dead end
with determination
and fascination
I want to reject the desire
and refuse to be engaged
in a repetitive mind game
with myself
to revive the moments
of death
but then, why do I wet my lips rub my eyes
perk my ears
looking around?
Did I just hear
a whisper?
a breeze?
or did I just
touch a melody?
underneath the feet
there is a path
paved dry
with words
all around me
words
like stones, twigs,
fallen leaves,
acorns, pine nuts
dry and ghostly
on the sidewalks
I gather them for you
thinking about
voyage
PEF162 – 79