In October of 1986, Windsinger lay dying and Dharma held his hand. He asked only that his songs be honored, for his music was his life.


("This painting is really there".)

Deep among the canyon wall, I hiked alone while silence flowed;
In some cool shade I stopped to rest and drink some water.
Looking up, I noticed her, an act of love was painted where
The sandstone face slipped down to meet
---the crumbling ages.

Unknown hands from years gone by , had stopped to rest here,
the same as I;
But with brush and paints od clay, he left his love here.
A painted girl to greet the dawn.
A crown of white, a feathered gown;
Her smile demure, she waited while
---birds flew around her.

A thousand years this love has grown
and stood the test of wind and stones,
While my love waits beyond these walls,
---birds fly around her.

The canyons grow and canyons die, as sand dissolves behind her eyes,
Her painted birds will tuble down and join the ages.
The grass turns green and then to brown, a thousand times before her crown;
Although she,s changing, slowly fading,
---the love will live here.

So who am I to linger here?
I'm just a flash before her mirror,
A fading whisper who stops to watch
--birds fly around her.

Phoenix Journal: The Crucifixion of the Phoenix, Journal No. 12, pages 193/197.

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