Mad Genius has to go away
To hear the birds sing
And play along the dry creek bed,
To watch them mate and dance up dust,
To watch them bathe in the gulchy bend
Of washed up silt and river sand.

They flutter their feathers while they stand
Where the water ran so deep,
But drought has made the river sleep
In someone else's home.
And the geese have gone away,
But these desert dove
Love a dry creek bed,
And so they've come to stay.

And Mad Genius, too,
Is used to something else,
Too used to it to say
Just what it is that drives him so away,
Out here, unto this desolate place,
Where quiet speaks like runes,
And these ancient tunes these ancient desert dove sing,
Of love and hope in every living thing
Brings streams back to his desert heart
And makes him start to bloom again,
And makes him think of his great art
And work.

-jenn