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one year |
one year with wood is like nothing else not the winter whining for snow not the spring storm in the garden graveyard not the miracle milagro nailed to a cross not a painting with cracks and holes, so ancient not any sin not a wasted sip of wine not a single note stripped from the complex chord i don't want it to rain i've thought of metaphors here and there to slip into songs but they really don't do for this one year with you you gave me a twisted bottle burnt by the house fire melted into a form more grand than all those other bottles we sat on the roof looked down through the skylight looked up at the planes spelling nothing listened to a far song you didn't pray, but you thought about it it's possible to be happy and lost at the same time i cried at night and laughed in the morning made you tea in my blue shirt- i'd refill for free but you sip so slow there's no need your eyes aren't quite blue mine aren't quite brown we know the rules of science we stopped using disposable cups god is a quark we will find where our food grows, sliding like fish from hooks the songs i write are written for me when i look you in the eye i read them off your almost blues like smoke signal script we are so complex we are so simple we are so small we are so big we see things like mountains moss oceans cedar sap colored houses smooth rocks hurricane house graves chicago night from the plane window traps and there's no going back and no wanting to |