Meet me at the shoulder of the river.
I will show you how the universe opens itself like a book.
You don’t have to know the language, or even the script.
Come sit on the banks
painted by the first rays of the orange sun.
Let your feet dangle in the air,
let the distant groan of the automobile
be buried by the voice of the river.
Come when no one is watching your silhouette slip away.
Come with a million voyages swimming in your head
where the fragrance of one town drifts into another.
And when you are here, wait a while
until the remnants of yesterday have been erased.
Until you have forgotten your way back to the mansion.
Then you will be free to venture with me
through mountains of smoke,
through the laughter of the insect,
through cities shaped by centuries,
through villages where grass mingles with metal,
through countries fenced in by wars.
You will be free to fall
into the valley of the vagabond.
One of those days,
you will do handstands in the sky.