A Condition of Memory, and: Telephone

'////, ? // ? / / / / / / / / / %. L ? / '/¦ '/ / / r / A CONDITION OF MEMORY In the night there was the caress of a familiar hand and through the film-mesh of half sleep, half waking a familiar voice and the chant of words: Bless my baby boy. Bless my baby boy. And then repeated, half sigh, half supplication: Bless my baby boy. It was my father speaking. The hills seemed kinder then and the people kind Even the introspective stones seemed neighborly all immured in the long tradition of time and man and earth and the ritual flow of seasons. Now in a different and more difficult age with memory blurred and no informing past I wake alone in that same dark house missing the touch of that kind rough hand so gentled by time and love and loss knowing, as no other, what it means to be blest still blest, remembering that long ago blessing. -Al Stewart TELEPHONE Yes, this, it was, that kept me here. To anything less my yearning Would have said howdy and moved on. The music of your voice, it was, Clear of all random uses, singing The pure lyric of self, its Unique modality floating, Exquisite petals floating, Airways from a cement world. Only this it was, The sound of your voice Calling from that other land. -Al Stewart 24 ...