As I wind down the pines

it's the lines on your face

playing on your face

Without thinking so much

as abandoning thought

I went through open country

over water meadows streams

lakes and wires and roosts in reeds

to a nest in the hole of

this dead

tree.

To play without stopping or pause

not for silence not for applause

not without thinking

and thinking's abandoning thought

As I wind down the pines

it's the lines on your face

playing on your face