Apple Tree

To think that I'd been sleepwalking all this time And the thread I ran behind Was twisted into this melody Leading me out through the forest Past the oaks to the apple trees And I saw you there, Evangelist Abuelo, Methuselah, Prometheus, trembling And you brought pic-a-nic baskets full of bread And sang songs to the great grandmother of Gilgamesh Praying for an unbroken line Braided, hand over hand Pulled taught over time And what did you get? Did you retrace your steps Through the spiralling labyrinth To the orchard that you can't quite forget? With acorn-pitted soles of feet and brass rubbing bark palm filigree Filling your fingernails with rock and earth Toenail black crescents of mud and leaves Do you shout out these questions, "When does a melody turn into a harmony? When does a harmony become a song?" So what What do we do with these bitterest herbs And these sweetest of fruit What do we do with this drunken melange? And why does it feel like the song never ends, It just changes its shape as it's passed tongue to tongue? It's not your burden alone to finish the tune But that doesn't mean you stop singing the song And what does it mean if the song never ends? If it's changing its shape as it's passed tongue to tongue It's not your burden alone to finish the tune But that doesn't mean you stop singing the song