If I followed dawn,

I’d rise in my slow climb

high above the sycamores,

high above the clouds,

the hills and valleys,

the mountains, lakes

and gleaming rivers rushing to the sea.

I’d follow the blue day

high above the groans of the dying,

the screams of lovers,

the cries of babies,

the horns and sirens

of crowded cities

where smoke and soot

soil the houses and tall buildings.

And following the day towards dusk,

past the moon and stars

I’d go where dawn

is rising once again

above the horizon

in the eastern sky

and there,

high above my life,

moving like a cloud,

my spirit glowing in the morning air,

I’d swallow my silence

and speak as if these were my final words,

my breath filling up my lungs

to sing my final song

as if, at last, I have the chance to say it all—

each word a cherished sound--

and I want my words

soaring through the sky

to touch the hearts below me,

praying I can love myself enough

to love the ugly, the evil, the killers,

the vultures and with my words

wake the innocence they were born with,

the goodness they’ve forgotten

and somehow open up the doors they’ve slammed behind,

and they would hear my words call them with forgiveness

to the quiet land where our gardens grow

and as I go with dawn across the sky,

looking from this place above the waking day

above the crowded cities,

the disappearing forests,

the lakes drying up,

I want my final words to heal their hearts,

and bring smiles and happy tears

believing, perhaps foolishly,

my final words can change the weather

of our world.

Oh, if only I could say these final words,

be heard and leave behind

one song that makes a difference,

I’d gladly leave the dawn to others.