I asked about those timeless things
And she denied the weather as it rained
She’d promised something I don’t recall
I’m pretty sure with fingers crossed behind her back

I’ll let you in on a little known fact
the Autumn sun falls sideways, and
it does
fit her perfectly

What are they doing with those cameras?
“Let him go! Let him go!” they shouted.

What are they doing with those cameras?
Their behavior is very suspect.
They zero in on faces.
Why? What are they going to do with this information?

They see this guy, and assume that he’s a leader
‘Cause he has a megaphone, I suppose.
They walk all the way down here
To get a better angle on his face.
What are they going to do with this information?

What are they doing with those cameras?
It’s very dangerous to have them assume that you’re a leader.

Look at the lengths they go to, to identify this person.
Look at the details they try to pick up.
What are they doing with those cameras?

Here’s something to think about:
If you ever feel you’re being targeted by police
In the middle of a demonstration
It might be wise to disguise yourself.
Maybe change your clothes…
But don’t forget your shoes.

What are they doing with those cameras?
Be careful that your disguise doesn’t make them more curious.
Get the people with the masks, I hear them say.
His shirt looks like an old prison.
Black and white.
What are they going to use this information for?

You have a right to be nervous.
What are they doing with those cameras?
No one is breaking any laws here.
What are they going to do with this information?

Those days swayed their fold,
and equinoxed to plant some seeds,
Between the legs of her he found,
a soul containing
so many rooms

but whose?

(then and later)

“It’s many things” he said once
“and places these are they such few.”
“It’s an orrerie…” she said.
and he wondered at those many things
she claimed to think or thought she knew

She looked into the mercurous mirrors.
Their clockery ticks and poisoned time;
a sun so central, electroplated,
and planets so magnifified.

He watched at once through spectacles
gold-plated as they were mirrored
oak-cast and brass-bound rimmed
Reflecting himself to himself,
just as colors to his thirsty ears.

She grew planets from her fingers
and worlds from many arms
and light erupted from her sway
and dark from many palms

She was everything it seemed
and her horizon called to grave
all those things he knew he knew
and swayed his folded days

In some ways it was uneventful,
but from my vantage,
looking out at an unbroken and even horizon,
I know that somewhere there can be found
a conference of ancient giants,
newly awakened -
greeting the dawn.