6.02.2008

And That Was When They Started to Run


I was on the couch,
Harmonica in hand.

You were outside the door,
Sunglasses in hand.

There are just times that I can't do without,
And the snow will fall from Heaven,
And I'll think myself back to Scotland,
To the bed I shared with her and early mornings,
And my breath will catch in time and pattern out,
The pitches that she said spoke of weary travels,
Till the room is empty,
The sound of the air conditioning consuming the air.

Your sunglasses fall as you walk down the hallway.

2 comments:

appletrain said...

MMM, a very articulate sadness..

Anonymous said...

sometimes I try to figure out where this comes from and I never can. I guess you don't know either. regardless, I would love to visit the place it all comes from sometime.