When I’m old and grey
and I pass away
find your favourite tree
i’ll find it too
and i’ll talk to you
When I’m old and grey
and I pass away
find your favourite tree
i’ll find it too
and i’ll talk to you
A pale orchard is the speaker
he is older than bones
older than a visitor flickering beyond night
dropped in Blood Mother’s hand
a sheet draped white yellow flower
reveals he is close
close to her sweetest internal rhyme
he dances words from the eardrum of her ocean cave