Leonard Cohen’s Hat is a Tip to a Generation

pearls dripping from the faucet
not letting him turn me down
there must be release, even small, but steady
into the plastured night
like an instrument missing its thinking
and drums spelling out the name
the only meteoric fail-storm not pardoned
by the approaching morning, a tide-belt memory

this one is elevated
a memory into the crease of mutual thinking
not a candle or a wordsmith
able to light his pattern into the sea of steel hound joy
at the flight of a patterned conclave of shadow-metrics
for tonight we sing, downy and abrupt
too long to have been awake,
too short to have not been asleep
we will sting the pariah mercy with hand-straps and glutton swamps
like a pearl from a faucet, washing the waving contours
from our everlasting tempers and memories of together deployed