The same old sneakers

The same old sneakers And socks from a past life. A little less of the knack now. With nostalgia for the homeland. Shores are right under my nose now. Waves are whispering of the past. I'm the one playing with the pump, Blowing bellows full of gas. I'm a flying hot-air balloon. I leave beneath my feet A world that's sometimes kind of dull, Under my enormous strides. A giant who remembers the time When the sun was closer. When the thinking crown of the head Tenderly licks thought with thought. I'll pull the lever and the sparks From burnt-out former lives Will carry me so fast Over a host of tawdry fears. I'll conquer summits, peaks. I'll record the evidence on disk. So I can talk at ease When I see the holy faces. Or else they'll ask me this and that, Like, so up there — it's paradise, no worse! Only there's a bit less light there, And let's go to the dinner party. And what if, stepping into the hall, Throwing on a black tailcoat in a hurry, Pouring down a hundred fifty of dry, I have to touch the piano keys. Sure, not Bach and not Beethoven, But I won't chicken out there, that's for sure. I won't be long-winded, Delighting the holy souls. Day after day the same old thing But somehow different. Once with a rapturous "Oh God." Once we're quietly crying into the pillow. Leafing through the bindings of books We search for the formula of success. All the falls and all the rises Are just another milestone. In this eternal whirl What if a quarter hour's not enough? Win it back at death's bank And hit the big jackpot. So that further on, a giant, Unhurried and with pleasure, I can heat my coffee with a volcano Greeting the rising of the sun.