The Pilot Light (1973)
Talking through a bluegrass band
to a face of fair experience
made moist by the summer heat
played hard by bitterness
stretched tight as a drum head
Friends tell me that you’re still around
in a clapboard house of white, pure white,
encircled by the evergreens
gauging love by golden weights
and friends by measured garden gates .
The pilot light is out
Tell the feeders down along the ,line
That the spark has disappeared
tell the feeders we are going home.
My invitation extends to you
to visit us again sometimes.
I don’t need your change of mind.
Or the passive imperfect tense.
Just say hello and mind the stairs.
The pilot light is out
Tell the feeders down along the ,line
That the spark has disappeared
tell the feeders we are going home.