Walking a dusty western lane
We heard strange music
A marching tune with heavy drums,
Floating between dust motes
Trombones and piccolos,
Accordion and calliope,
Rusty notes on the wind,
Colliding faintly
Among dry grass and star thistle,
Flickering on leaves
Of late summer green trees.
From some Time
Before grass and trees
Were trees and grass.
Hear it in the mid-day sun
Hear it in the mid-night moonlight
A parade to wary ears
Bringing impossible memory
From a faraway circus
A somewhen show
We never saw
And never will.
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