Riboflavin, Niacin and B-12, these nutritive theorems from cereal boxes of my childhood… they are not real.

In infancy even looking was my food
In childhood smelling; youth — listening
Touching things in forests or next to rivers
Learning how stars moved with seasons
Devouring some topic solo with a naive devotion
Older, watching how adults deviated from their words
Wondering at friend’s or adversarial personae
Waiting to find ones who ask true questions

Not to imply that I lacked for passions
I would traipse the whole earth to cultivate some appetite
Or get physical with a found kindred soul
A hundred miles nothing to imbibe a loving smile
You cannot make me obsessed with you
That’s an earlier deformation along my pathway
But you could feel my love force crossing spacetime
Just a matter of fine tuning the frequency

Now I locate a singular rarified nutrition
Yielding a bodyless vigor of sorts through maturity
It comes from giving sweetness, not hunting it
From harboring love without empirical proving
From sculpting private days into personal gifts
And shaping my thoughts into warming affection
From holding certain to near sacred allegiances
Beyond constraint to cherished hearts never met.

_______________________________

_______RS

Note : Maybe thirteen. Late in the year. The rhythm and electric guys in the band had already left; it was just Marty’s amazing voice, Grace’s tenor recorder, and some friends hanging out who could play acoustic 6-strings. Recorded in one sitting. This one stupefyingly lovely song is 50% responsible, at least, for convincing me that a life devoted entirely to math and sciences would be meaningless.

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