Can you draw the sap

from a wild cherry tree?

Can you teach the sparrow not to fly free?

Can the clouds in the sky become

river sand?

Does the birch tree crawl

when it’s just learned to stand?

Does the silence of flowers

mean they can’t talk?

Does a blackboard of stars

mean they’re just chalk No (and don’t sulk)

So the fact that you’re gone, doesn’t mean

you’re not here.

Yet how I miss you!

Though I don’t shed a tear.

Does the door that is flat

ever rise to the ceiling?

The door you slam, open on hinges?

Does the window of your eye

look out and in?

Are the two worlds it sees somehow blood kin?

When you’re ready

to love, are you ready to fight?

Is spirit real? Is the sun full of light? Yes (that’s right)

So the fact that you’re here, doesn’t mean

you’re not gone.

God, how I miss you! Can right go so wrong?

But bad or good, old or young,

come live with me all our lives long.

Or I’ll sing you forever this wretched song.