If this were the last snowfall. No more halos on evergreen. If this were the last glimpse of winter. What would these eyes see?. . If this were the last slow curling.
The one who survives by making the lives. Of others worthwhile. She's coming apart. Right before my eyes. The one who depends on the services she renders.
It's the season of grace coming out of the void. Where a man is saved by a voice in the distance. It's the season of possible miracle cures. Where hope is currency and death is not the last unknown.
Oh, no not now, please not now. I've just settled into the glass half empty made myself at home. And so why now? Oh, please not now. I just stopped believing in happy endings, harbors of my own.
He was there the night the wall came down.. He lost her in the endless crowd,. In the shadow of St. Stephen's cross.. He sent cries aloft for his fellow man,.
Soon, love, soon. Soon, love, soon. Soon, love, soon. . There'll be a fire burning in the temple of our peace. (Soon love soon). There'll be the soaring voice for a silent plea.
In this desert land. I know some rain must fall. See where we began. We've come so far. On this harbor shore. We hear the ocean call. In our minds at war.
So far so good. You're coming to the bend at the end of the road. You put a hand to the belly that's foreign more. With every day like an oversize load.
Everyone agrees it came too soon. It was only meant to be an intersection. You kept fear of death in back pocket of your jeans. In the palm of your hand, affection.
It's so beautiful here, she says,. This moment now. And this moment, now. And I never thought I would find her here:. Flannel and satin. My four walls transformed.
It's just the radio darling, just the radio. Just the radio and your runaway imagination. Just the radio darling, just the radio. Just the radio, we could turn away to another station.
Sunday:. Dark water draining north. The heat swells and bursts like plague. . Sunday:. Ever-so-faint slow tambourine. Glides onward toward the grave. .
I died in a car crash two days ago. Was unrecognizable. When they pulled me from the gears. No one's fault, no one's bottle. No one's teenage pride or throttle.
City fast asleep. Clouds up on the hill. So quiet. So still. Dreams of rain in sheets,. Dreams of ice and wings. So delicate. These things.. . Love, love, love is a word so small.
It's the quiet night that breaks me. I cannot stand the sight of this familiar place. It's the quiet night that breaks me. Like a dozen papercuts that only I can trace.
Father says head down. We don't want them finding you. Mother says practice now. All the words you know. . Oh Arizona's burning. They say the fence turned round.
detect my sudden existence on your sonar. you feel the echo. electrify the resistance in your broken heart. and burn it up, oh. we're gonna photosynthesize and drink up the sunrise.
My Medea. . inside the labyrinth walls. there lies a tiny child who sleeps alone. and as the daylight falls. the wind becomes so wild across the stone.
Why am I walking barefoot. Upon this road with no one around. I close my eyes to this decision. The night's like coffee to my tongue. Like waking up without a sound.
Mission Street is a striking dark-eyed stranger. Who speaks a language I don't know but long to learn. Its cadences fall endlessly beyond the windowpane.