'Sfunny, I've had Al (and this song) in my head, not unpleasantly, and pleasantly, for hours.
There must have been one particular day, in college, when I heard the original "Take Me to the River." Now I still love the Talking Heads' version, but that day was quite a day indeed, whatever day that was. And that record album will be with me until one of the very last dwindlings-away of what's left of those vinyl circles in cardboard in the other room.
I told Sandi, who told me about Al on TV, and mentioned Justin Timberlake, followed by our agreeing that he doesn't completely suck, about Jon Bon Jovi not sucking with Bettye LaVette at the inaugural hoo-ha. Which I think is maybe sayin' somethin'.
I was writing a poem when she called.
We no longer know Moons, except Harvest, and that
not for its time, but as audience to crooners, up
in the sky, a big streetlamp, there to serve, to
light outdoor fooling around, or the walk home after.
No such song for the February moon, the aching one we
can barely take, another round over frozen ground.
They might have spoken to it from a carriage, all
bundled tight, or thought it a glorious shimmery white,
and smiled a moment, in a shiver, but then they were
gladder to be in, and at the fire. We, heated and in
automobiles, are glad of it too, and rarely note this moon
they named for the beautiful and unforgiving, the
white that mirrors below the white that shines above.
But I forget--- we do know the Blue. The occasional.
The moon without season. It has something to do
with math, and better here not to figure, just to
know it comes, and when it comes it's here, and
we have a song to sing to that one, too.