III.
“But in my life”
But in my life there is no music.
What would I do with it?
I miss the Texan plain,
hot sun cut by rain.
On either side of my small cottage
lie the graveyard and the garden
in the shadow of this church
where I do my daily work.
The days, they come and go
slowly, endlessly, like stone.
When I kneel below the hewn wood
beams
holding up the sanctuary, nothing comes.
Nothing but simplicity.
Nothing but the beauty of belief.
I make believe the wind blowing
the hair around my ears is a singing
not just branches of an oak.
Never have I been so meek—
sky above
reason enough to grieve.
I want only my sleep.
I have nothing but
these few forms of happiness,
all false—
as though I came here decades since
to hide myself in holy monument.
Young Texas man who lost his sense.
…
Andrew Tye is from a town named Temple. He believes all humans are poets. He performs his forthcoming book My Son as a one-man show in NYC. He aims to share the book and the show with national audiences.