Friday, March 27, 2015

Smile!

I am a week and a day late with this, but first, a belated happy birthday to Evelyn - Dick, it was good to hear you talk about of her double celebration last week, and Mom, I liked your poem for her.  And I never knew until this year that both of your mothers shared the same birthday!

This is from the post on my Confluence blog yesterday, the poem I wrote and Dan read at Grandma Bunny's funeral reception, but I think it might work just as well as a tribute to Evelyn, whom I know mostly through the smiles of her son and grandkids.


In Your Smile


She lives in your warm smile
     and your easy laugh,
     your purposeful hugs;
She lives in the way you keep house
     and home and family together,
     in the part of you too that would see the world;
She is in your eyes and all they have seen,
     in your hands resting gently on tired shoulders,
     in your heart of tender steel;
She drives with you through Minnesota,
     away from the cities and farms
     to where the trees turn birch
     and the lakes become personal;
She stands with you at the front door,
     welcoming, and again
     with your smile your laugh your hugs;

She will be forever the reason
     you are cousin, sister, brother,
     the ones to call her grandma,
     the man who named her Bunny;

She will linger
     in your lefse heritage, your Norwegian souls,
     in the percolating aromas of morning coffee
     in the happy of happy hour;

She will resonate
     in your day to day testimony,
     your quiet evening prayer,
     the hymn you hum.
Once she was the one
     who worked the lathe
     and weaved rugs
     and moved heavy stones to a beachfront dock;

It was not long ago
     she paddled a canoe
     and cleaned the fish we caught;
     not so long ago we drove to Idaho
And she worked crossword puzzles
     and knitted sweaters
     and baked pies and cookies

She would gently massage the knots out of your neck
     without you ever asking
     and one day she hugged you 
           from the back of your chair
     and said I am so happy you are here.
Now you hike through the woods
     and walk a beast of a dog;
     you find your lifelong companion
     and you keep planting trees
     and watching them grow;
And you travel the world
     and you never run out of places to go
     but you keep coming home

To sit on the deck, to watch
     the rising sun, the setting sun
     or in the house by the hearth
     you watch the fire
And you will hold this as long as you can,
     maybe you will glimpse heaven,
     or simply appreciate the moment
But you will smile
     and she will live on in your smile.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Meanwhile, Tuesday


         calm and crazy, somewhat out of
        the blue, some kind of co-pilot breathes
       classically,
      the gunpowder cast of the fuselage,
     duly behind the lead weight of his door,
    now pounding and screaming
   mercilessly,
  leave it to strains of black-box
 suffrage and lonely spots on the moon,
leave center of all notions civilized,
there’s nothing those cockerels can do
 as rugged as window-seat bookings
  can be don’t wave them adieu
   cavalierly
    this can’t be allowed Smerdyakov
     is swelling a kind of mischief inside me
      to scramble this soupçon of crazy
       itinerantly
        all systems down as schooldays drown
         in the splash of the honcho’s need to pee

Thursday, March 19, 2015

tomes we have in mind


Josef is sixteen today and as experienced
many years, he’s miles away—this time skiing,
another on a scouting trip, and when he was a little boy,
I’d be in St Petersburg attending a perennial event.
I’d go to Dostoevsky’s grave and light a candle,
tenting up a fir-branch frame to shield against the wind.
It was equally a vigil for the soul of Joseph,
twenty-six today in heaven, also often miles away.

Take Middlemarch, a dog-eared narrative
that’s barely read today. We could throw it on the pyre
that Montag must ignite, to get on to the business
of better things to say. Joe’s a reader consummate:
of Čapek plays and weekly features in Respect,
Canterbury Tales and ‘Babi Leto, Babi Yar’—I dare say
he’ll return to these, to stoke the embers
in a different way. Meanwhile, here’s George Eliot.

Happy Birthday

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Lioness

This is dedicated to Dick's Mom, Evelyn Patricia Rebman Jaeger, who is 100 years old today!  We just noticed on our salt box in the cupboard that Morton Salt and the girl with the yellow dress and umbrella is also 100 years old.  After returning from my first visit to Kaukauna, Wisconsin and meeting my future in-laws, I said and wrote, "They are the salt of the earth!"

Here's my poem from Arizona:

LIONESS
by Marilyn Patricia Elstad Jaeger

If the Lion of Judah is Jesus
And within myself he abides
Am I lioness
With wondrous prowess?
No greater claim I'd confide.

Dan named his first son Josef Lev;
Lev meaning Lion, and Dan, "lion's whelp"
Out of Bashan Leaping,
Oath of Israel keeping:
Same vict'ry and courage, our help!

In Tubac an abstract leonine
Captured my imagination
It hangs on the wall
Inspiring all
Who dare likewise sublimination.

A "Leo" is ninth grandchild Lia,
Leos' babies claim they're center stage.
I don't have much truck
With zodiac stuff,
The Lion 'mongst stars, who can gauge?

So Lion I take for a mascot
In Arizona, Champaign or in Prague.
Now hear me roar!
Do you ask What for?
Add "Lioness" to family blog.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Sonnets of the Spirit

Sonnets of the Spirit
A Song, a Creed, a Toast and a Dance


Sonnet of the Wind

The gift of breathe:
The air supply made of green leaves,
The chemistry of oxygen
the lungs receive,
The circulatory cells they feed,
The appetite and hunger’s power
of needing more,
The muscles that refuse to sleep,
The will to keep
the moments of a given day,
The way we live in increments,
The breath we give back to the green,
The whole routine
Beyond belief or comprehension,
Uncontrolled, unspecified,
The spirit of the simplest soul:
The gift of breathe.


Sonnet of Earth and Essence

I am earth,
my God is essence
and in between

The wind blows,
the water flows,
the fire burns.

All that is made
my God creates;
I am created

With heart and lungs,
with sweat and tears,
with want and will,

And without these
my God is absent
and I am only earth.


Sonnet of the Water

The gift of quench, the grace of flow,
The stir of raindrops on the soil,
The tears we cry, the salt we show.
The way we wash away our toil.
A soak to soothe, a drip to feed,
The air that we’re conditioned to,
The life we’re given and all we need,
Our vehicle and avenue,
The force that cuts from source to sea,
Before we’re born, after we die,
The waves of time and destiny,
Our means to cleanse and purify,
The drink we drink, to all things new
   and from all that we should let go:
I fill my glass and lift it to
   the gift of quench, the grace of flow.


Sonnet of the Fire

The gift of spirit,
The dance within,
The forge that makes me
more than clay.
The wheel that turns,
The heat that burns,
The fire’s fingers
forming me.
The fragile flame,
The sparks of time,
The fickle flicker
of the glaze:
The soul for 30,000 days,
each longing for eternity.

Post #337

There!  I do have a post in the wings, as Dan suggested in Post #336, but I wanted to make sure Dan posted his poem properly first, and then I wanted to also extend a proper invitation, following Josh's comment to Kirsten's last post. (Read the comments, people!)

Dan's poem, I told him, deserves more than a side link, and so it gets more than a side comment too.  Josh, I'll bet this is not what you had in mind for your jukebox project, but I gotta say, it works, it fits.  And leave it to Dan to insist on getting Dostoevsky and Shakespeare into his agin and agin lists.  But why not?  And for the same reasons Josh gives us, too: to celebrate our variety, to show a part of what makes us tick, to keep thinking about what we want to share.  So, from here: Dick, a list of books to recommend; Anne, your favorite handmade posts (share!); me, I don't know, maybe my favorite rivers...  Josh, feel free to steer us back from this, but I do like the variety this Symposia can have!

And on that note, welcome to our newest author: Andrea Lamken!  Okay, she hasn't authored anything for us yet, but she was informally invited two weeks ago after she expressed an appreciation for Kirsten's agin and agin list, and she has been formally invited through the blog administration process.  Andrea, we look forward to hearing from you.  And, by the way, we aren't purposefully skipping over Lena and Tilo or any of the other cousins - in fact, get the word out, we'd love to get more of you on to the blog.  All are welcome, just let me know and give me an email address and I'll send out the formal invite.

My next post (#338) was written a day or two before Dan's, and it shares the same quartet structure, although less akin to the S2L2 theme, more in appreciation of T.S. Eliot's focus on the classical elements. I've just posted it as an entry to Parabola Magazine's 2015 Poetry of the Sacred Contest, a venue I stumbled across last year that is sponsored by the Center for Interfaith Relations.  I haven't looked deeply into the organization, but to give a sense of their perspective they are currently celebrating the 100th birthday of Thomas Merton.  I surely do not know enough about him to qualify for this contest, but I'm giving it a shot.

reasons to post in sundry places

Jon has intriguing sonnets in the dock (on the docket? on deck?) that will manifest here in due time. So will our various S2L2A&A, which propels this follow-up post: I gleaned through a fair amount of Shostakovich and Pink Floyd, tracing their storylines and themes. Ummagumma is a great album to listen to, in this design. Shakespeare's final original play, The Tempest, invites musical interpretation, and Joey and I have composed a pretty good rendition of "We are such stuff / As dreams are made on"--we'll practice that for the Blanchardville Birthday Bash! And Dostoevsky should have songs made on his material--that will be a near-future endeavor.

But for now, here is my 2015 homage, slightly annotated, to S2L2A&A:


          Quartet, from English-Russian origins

Hamlet, scholar more than prince, taking duty to the hilt, is
Raskolnikov, a sacrosanct adieu to the siege he hastened set for
Symphony #7, patient corpses—some of cannibals—dreaming of
The Dark Side of the Moon, us and them and lunatics between.

Agued Lear, renegade of all he gave away, to faithful fools and
Brothers Karamazov, lusting inquisitions that bargain souls, not
Babi Yar, where monuments of mind surcease, save those who risk
The Wall, the brick-by-brick design to be strangers in this town.

The Scottish play, lest we name names, is the pig within: Mob,
Demons, or the Possessed, Kirilov killing self or Shatov—nichovo!
Lady Macbeth at the Mtsensk, whose barrenness is faultless, makes
Animals, cullingly, of us all: gotta have a real need not to drown.

Othello, you beast with two backs, jealousy seeded within, you
Idiot, an angel who may have prevailed over fits epileptic to hear
Opus 107, the unfettered cello, if not quite unstrung or undone. We
Wish You Were Here, all told above, to play out your parts again.

Sunday, March 15, 2015

That's what I'm talkin' about!

Ever-eager to cite my sources, the subject line is John Elstad making a 2nd or 3rd pool shot in a row, and, by domino citations, Josh doing and exclaiming likewise. It's also a celebration of inspiring activity of late, if just a smidgeon is apparent here.

Stillwater Symposium was born 4 years ago--January 2011 under the possible names 'Karamazov' or 'Idiot' or 'Woebegone' productions--glad we had the good sense to resort to Stillwater! But there are reasons why those other names were bandied about.

Mom has been a scrapbook-maker extraordinaire, linking here-and-now to the lore of Loftness reunions and Skideroo. Stillwater hopes to do this, too.

Songs To Listen To a'Gin and a'Gin inspires this 335th Stillwater post (with a couple more I see in draft stage). The lists have been great to investigate, especially when annotated, and I was going to add my 2015 rendition with the rather banal side B of Van Halen's debut, "Jamie's Crying" (whistling that in happiest times while walking Bronx); instead, I decided to write a poem on four artists that I've continued to read--and sometimes teach--for now over 30 years. Quartet, from English-Russian origins, then, is my offering for this symposium.

Note, please, my sly grammatical ascription of the singular for this 'symposium'--we have many-a-symposia to bandy about! We want stories from Arizona and Central Illinois, updates serendipitous and salaried. I was honored this week, for instance, to help host Laurie Halse Anderson, author of young adult literature, and to hear Emma's report about how she presented to 4th-graders, and to see how she did with my 10th- and 11th-graders. One of the latter wrote an article for our online newspaper, and while I don't preside over that elective anymore, I'm thrilled she is there to sustain it.

In this season of Lent, we are blessed in our humility. God saves us--nothing else. As caricatured as it may seem, I've spend a lot of time these past weeks on Dostoevsky's mix of intellectual passion and spiritual circumspection--those terms shall not (cannot) pin-hole his discursive method. "That's what I'm talkin' about" is a polyphonic means to polyphonic meaning--I'll cite Bakhtin here as my source. The slippery slope, many might argue, is that anyone talking = anyone right. Democracy has employed mechanisms like the Electoral College and Oliver Wendell Holmes' 'marketplace of ideas'. I like how we're using the net: our symposium, engendered in Psalm 23, and hooks and hopes when we all meet again. Looking forward to July 18th!... 

Friday, March 6, 2015

Kirsten's psuedo music list

This list is filled with the songs I genuinely listen to in this moment of my life so it is rather eclectic(and strange). Please don't read too much into the songs, they are purely based on music not message k cool

Link to listen to it right now(for freeeeee): rise, zenith, set

Rise
Beck - Morning
Samuel Barber - Adagio for Strings, op. 11
Radiohead - Faust Arp
Yann Tiersen (Amelie) - Comptine d'un autre été
Beyoncé - Haunted

Zenith
Lana Del Rey - Money Power Glory
Mark Ronson - Uptown Funk
Xtreme - Te Extraño
Die Antwoord - Ugly Boy
Lana Del Rey - F***** My Way Up To the Top

Set
TLC - No Scrubs
Arctic Monkeys - Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?
Juanes - Fotografía
Destiny’s Child - Say My Name
Beck - Turn Away

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Jon's S2L2A&A, 2015

Here's my 2015 edition of S2L2A&A - complete with liner notes! You've seen some of this before, but this is what will go with the CD I might eventually burn (another of Josh's perennial suggestions).

------

CO-OPTED

Kirsten, with YCTC, ca. 2007





                 







------

...This next piece is inspired by brother Josh’s persistent call for submissions of S2L2A&A: songs to listen to again and again. Josh would have everyone in the family compile and circulate annual CD-length lists of our favorite songs, and what a beautiful way of showing and sharing a part of what makes us tick, of celebrating our variety and expanding the awareness of our collective souls. Josh also encourages us, by making this an annual project, to keep adding to our life-list of favorite songs and to think year-round of what might go on our next year’s list. So, one song at a time, I came up with the following twelve songs, beginning with the first piece that is dedicated especially to Josh. Thank you brother!

------

I am calling this collection “Co-opted,” as it is centered around three of my own poems that I have set to other people’s music.  Consider these co-opted works my P2S2A&A:  poems to sing to again and again.


WE WILL DRAW NEAR
1. Adiemus, by YCTC
2. Forever Young, by Bob Dylan
3. Shine On You Crazy Diamond, Parts I-V, by Pink Floyd
4. Tintinabulum, by YCTC

WALKING SONG
5. Modern Man, by Arcade Fire
6. Have a Talk With God, by Stevie Wonder
7. Modern Love, by David Bowie
8. Rococo, by Arcade Fire

STARRY NIGHT
9. Widow’s Grove, by Tom Waits
10. Vincent, by Don McLean
11. Pictures of You, by The Cure
12. Take It With Me, by Tom Waits

------

WE WILL DRAW NEAR

The first song on my S2L2A&A list this year is Adiemus by Karl Jenkins, as performed and recorded in 2007 by the Youth Choral Theater of Chicago (YCTC), a group of seventy kids of all ages which for eight rich years included my daughter Kirsten.  As the title track of a 1995 album and choral concert premise called “Songs of Sanctuary,” Adiemus is a moving mix of harmony and crescendo and sanctuary, but it stands out especially by the way it seems to beg for more meaning.  “Adiemus,” as it happens, translates as “We will draw near” in Latin, but Jenkins claims to not have known this; rather, the words of his song, and of the whole album, were intended to be a sort of pseudo-Latin, leaving it to the listener to make sense of it.  Consider how the song begins:

Ari adiemus latte, ari adiemus da,
ari a enatus latte adua.

So what does this mean to me?  My first thought, from the first time I heard it, was a single word: blessing!  What a blessing director Paul Caldwell had given these kids, and what a blessing to have them so beautifully accompanied by flute and piano and violin and percussion; what a blessing for them to be able to sing and play in Evanston, Illinois’s First United Methodist Church, and then to have a recording of it to keep, to hear again and again, and now to share.  Eight years later, I’ve given it some more words that seem to fit, based on the well known “bless you, keep you” benediction and supplemented with one of my favorite meaningful words, “Immanuel.”  Worth repeating!  And yes, the descant remains: “We will draw near.”

Following this song is Bob Dylan’s 1973 benediction, Forever Young; then, the first five parts of Pink Floyd’s Shine on You Crazy Diamond (1975), with the lyrics, “Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun”; and after that, returning to YCTC’s performance of Jenkins’ Songs of Sanctuary, with Tintinabulum (2007).  Enjoy, again and again!


We Will Draw Near, by J. A. Vold
An interpretation of Karl Jenkins' Adiemus

Brother, may the Lord be with you
Like a shepherd in the field
Giving you the meaning of Immanuel.
May that mean the whole world to you,
God's world ever given to you,
Blessing you no matter where you are.

Sister, may a world of peace be
With you everywhere you go,
Everywhere the meaning of Immanuel.
May it mean that God will hold you
Like a mother holds her child who
Looks into the eyes of loving care.

Refrain:
And may God's face shine upon you
With an everlasting smile,
Giving you the meaning of Immanuel.
May it mean that God is with you everywhere.
May you know that God is with you everywhere.
Immanuel! Immanuel!

(Repeat Refrain)

Child, may the grace of God be
Something you will come to know
Living in the meaning of Immanuel.
As you wander through the fold and
Grow beyond the mother's hold, may
You remember you're a child of God.

(Repeat Refrain)

May the hands of the shepherd bless you.
(We will draw near!)

May the arms of the mother keep you.
(We will draw near!)

May the face of God shine on you.
(We will draw near!)

May the grace of the Lord go with you.
(We will draw near!)

May the peace of the world be in you.
(We will draw near!)

May you know God is always with you.

Immanuel!
Immanuel!

------

WALKING SONG

This is my walking song.  Everyone should have a walking song, to break the silence, to add to the routine, to keep life's conversation going. A walking song helps one appreciate the world along the pathway and the companions of the day.  It's a talk to go with the walk, a song to sing when no one else is there.  Best of all, a walking song is a daily discipline, putting to practice the challenge of Paul.  From 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18:

Rejoice always, 
pray without ceasing,
give thanks in all circumstances...

Which leads, of course, to verse 19: "Do not quench the spirit."

This poem was composed in stages while I was, literally, walking my dog, but it started in a different form and to a tune if its own (think country twang with a Johnny Cash refrain); that extended version of the poem is included in these notes, but first up is the version that found a better tune in Arcade Fire’s Modern Man, from their 2010 album The Suburbs.

And on the CD, three more songs follow:  Have A Talk With God, by Stevie Wonder (1976); Modern Love, by David Bowie (1983), with its own “God and Man” confusion; and then a return to The Suburbs with Arcade Fire’s Rococo (2010).


Walking Song, by J. A. Vold
To the tune of Modern Man, by Arcade Fire

I’m a man, and this is my dog.
What would I hear if this dog could talk?
What would I say if I were the dog?

What would I think? What would I know?
Where would I run to? How far would I go?
Would I run away if I were the dog?

God is the man and I am the dog.
I’m not the man I once thought I was.
He seems so far away, and I don't know what to say,

Refrain:
(But I'll) stretch this leash from here to heaven,
And I'll sometimes think I know the way
And I'll take the paths that I’ve been given
And I'm learning, I'm learning what to say (how to pray).

I’m a man and this is my dog
And I try to listen when we go walk.
We walk every day,
We keep walking, me and my dog.

You may think that you know,
but you don’t understand
the walk of man and dog.

Whether dog, whether man,
you're just doing what you can
on the walk of dog and man.

Prayer is a leash, and this is my prayer,
And it’s drawing me close to the man up there.
He's not so far away, and I've been learning what I should say.

God is the man, but I am the one
Who walks with him when the day is done,
And with each breaking dawn,
   it looks like I am the one to...

(Repeat refrain)

...but you don’t understand
the walk of man and dog.

Whether dog, whether man,
you're just doing what you can
on the walk of dog and man.

You may think that you know,
but you'll never understand...

Whether dog, whether man,
you're just doing what you can
on the walk of dog and man.

Oh, the dog and man... (Repeat 5x)

------

This Is My Walking Song, by J.A. Vold
(To its own tune)

Lately my life revolves around a dog
Who knows whose leash it is and whose routine
We follow, stretching thin the line between
Our independent wills.

I see the dog
As one who needs a master, while the dog
Sees one who needs a friend, and if I’ve been
One caught up on commands the dog has seen
Me friendly now and then.

So man and dog
Since time began have tugged upon this leash
And traveled down the trails of this routine
Each morning looking forward to the walk.

Man and dog,
Unequally assigned, but side by side
Man walks the dog, dog walks the man, and each
One seems to keep the other satisfied.

     I am the man. This is my dog
    What would I hear if my dog could talk?
    What would I want to say
         if I were the dog?

    What would I think? What would I know?
    Where would I run to? How far would I go?
    And would I run away
         if I were the dog?

    Let me stretch this leash from here to heaven,
    Let me sometimes think I know the way
    But let me take the paths that I’ve been given
    And learn what I should say.

    I am the man. This is my dog.
    I try to listen whenever we walk.
    But what can there be to say
         when you’re a dog?

Sometimes I find myself spinning around
And chasing after things that aren’t there,
Entangling the one whose leash I share
And losing sight of where we might be bound.

I’ve found it’s good to have someone around
To take my side, to set the pace, to bear
The distance and to gently lead me where
I know I need to go,

But I have found
Myself spinning around things I don’t know.
I’m leaping after birds up in the air
And tracking common scents into the ground,

Yet I have found
The one whose leash I share at every turn
Keeps telling me the things I ought to know
But giving me the time I need to learn.

    God is the man. I am the dog.
    I’m not the man I once thought I was.
    He seems so far away.
         I am the dog.

    Prayer is the leash. This is my prayer,
    Drawing me close to the man up there.
    I don’t have words to say.
         I am the dog.

    But I’ll stretch this leash from here to heaven,
    And sometimes I’ll think I know the way,
    But I’ll take the paths that I’ve been given
    And learn what I should say.

    God is the man, but I am the one
    Who walks with him when the day is done
    And with each breaking dawn.
         I am the dog.

Lately my mind has turned the metaphor
Of man and dog, the leash and the routine
Upon its head. What can these verses mean
If I’m still learning what the walking’s for?

And can there even be a metaphor
Sufficient for the poetry I’ve seen
Along the way, when every step has been
Part of a song I’ve never sung before?

All the more,
I will walk, and in my walking sing,
And with my singing cherish the routine
And through routine embrace each metaphor

All the more,
Of God and man, of learning how to pray,
Of never understanding everything
About this life but walking anyway.

     And I’ll stretch this leash from here to heaven,
    And sometimes I’ll think I know the way,
    But I’ll take the paths that I’ve been given.
    I’m learning how to pray.

    Prayer is the leash. This is my prayer,
    Keeping me close to the man up there,
    And he’s not so far away.
         I am the dog.

------

STARRY NIGHT

Vincent Van Gogh’s most famous Starry Night painting (1889) shows a wild sky with swirling, pyrotechnic stars that cast a blue-gray glow on the town below it. It must be late at night, as there are no house lights and no people. This is the Starry, Starry Night of Don McLean’s song Vincent, reflecting how the artist “suffered for [his] sanity.”

It is a powerful moment, but I prefer Van Gogh’s earlier astral painting: Starry Night over the Rhone (1888).  The night is calmer, the stars are more balanced and the city is still awake with its own lights; a river flows across the canvas and there are exactly two people on the riverside, standing together and inviting us to take it all in.

Years ago, when I was one of two people, we bought a copy of this painting for our living room. My other is no longer with me; she is somewhere else, suffering for her own sanity now, and my days with her are forever in the past, but I still like keeping that painting on my wall...

This poem also was written to its own tune at first, but I eventually put it, with some enhancements (italicized here), to the tune of Widow’s Grove by Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan, from the album Orphans (2006).

Once again, three more songs follow: the aforementioned Starry Night, by Don McLean (1970); Pictures of You (listen to the words!), by The Cure (1989); and then back to some more Waits: Take It With Me, from Tom’s Mule Variations album (1999).


Starry Night, Revisited, by J. A. Vold
Enhanced by Widow’s Grove, by Tom Waits & Kathleen Brennan

The sky above, the earth below,
The city it stirs, the river it flows.
We walk at night that we may see
The stars and know we’re not alone,
 
That we may breathe a different air
And walk along a quiet shore,
Stand silent where the river laps
Up to our feet, wondering where 
We were before,

Refrain:
Oh, I followed you to the river
That washes out to the sea.
Between city lights and stars at night,
That's where I'll be.

The earth is black, the sky is blue.
The river bends a mirrored view
Of the evening glow of lights familiar,
Heaven down and shore to shore.
 
We meet the night. We take the time
To be together, you and I,
Across the river, in between
The city and a giant sky.

(Repeat Refrain)
 
We breathe the sky and feel the earth
And find our place beneath the stars,
Your arm in mine and mine in yours.
The world is right and the night is ours.

(Repeat Refrain)

Between city lights and stars at night,
That's where I'll be.