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Thursday, December 13, 2007
I found a cassette with your voice singing.
The wheels of the tape turned away from time
to let me hear your rendition of Folsom Prison Blues.
When I was a boy, I sat on your lap and you taught
me those words--the song of a lonely prisoner
staring from his cell window at the miles
of metal rail that lead the train past the jail.
When I was a boy, the dollar bill woven in your strings
was a rattling snare of steam; your voice was a wheel
grinding the track, rolling across California.
But now, when that song floats into my adult ears,
you are the whole train pressing on into the distance
and I am the prisoner listening to a whistle blow
the hot sound of freedom. I am watching
the train's slow escape, the soot billow falling behind
to earth as a frown of black cloud.

This is one of my sensei's poem's-- one of my favorites-- from his collection entitled, "Morning and What has Come Since." (Finish Line Press) Dave Harrity's blog is here.

Why do these images feel like Advent to me?


posted by John David Walt | at 12/13/2007 07:07:00 PM



Blogger eli said...

"people get ready, there's a train a comin'..."

i think the idea of captivity hearing, sensing freedom, is the idea of advent.

10:39 AM EST  

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