We Are Asking For Songs

We go to pray where the edge of land drops away

We spread our picnic rug on the air

No holy wine, we hold our glasses to the sky

Drinking cumulonimbus and contrails

Charged with a mass of atmosphere

We sing and rain pours from our mouths

We are showering you with song, a car drives by

And you get splashed by it, la la la 

We take a leaf from the grass and pray 

For the slow growing of a landscape

Maybe a watercolour that bleeds itself 

Off the page, it will not be contained

We pray in temples of sentences

That have not yet made their destination

We are setting our tables for unknown guests

We are lighting cigarettes on the halos of angels

Asking please, will you hang a song on me?

We begin chanting in untidy bedrooms 

Strumming over and over and over

Until a light comes on 

Until a housemate slams the door

Then we take these little prayers out

Fling them into noisy rooms

Or sing them into wav files, unruly

EKG lines laying down heart signals

Sometimes we babble bash our songs

Trying to tame a straggling crowd

We forget that they were once clouds

Shapeless things flying through space

And that our job was to make rain

Not puddles

Or oceans