Skip that.
One called Stone Canyon Nocturne.
Stone Canyon is a canyon in Los Angeles.
Whatever that's worth.
Rick Nelson had the Stone Canyon Band.
I guess he lived there.
He could afford to live there.
No one else could.
The Bel Air Hotel is in Stone Canyon,
and they have a couple of swans, and that's
why the swans come in here.
Actually, it has nothing to do with the Bel Air Hotel at all.
Oh, Ancient of Days is a euphemism
for God, which is also a euphemism for God, right?
Because everything is a euphemism for God,
because no one can say his name.
Stone Canyon Nocturne.
Ancient of Days, old friend, no one believes you'll come back.
No one believes in his own life anymore.
The moon like a dead heart, cold and unstartable,
hangs by a thread at the Earth's edge, unfaithful at last,
sploshing the ferns and the pink shrubs.
In the other world, children undo the knots
in their tally strings.
They sing songs, and their fingers blear.
And here, where the swan hums in his socket, where
bloodroot and belladonna insist on our comforting,
where the fox in the canyon wall empties
our hand, ecstatic for more, like a bead of clear oil
the Healer revolves through the night wind,
part eye, part tear, unwilling to recognize us.