Fiddled the locks and I turned on the lights,
and I tried at the laces but the knots were too tight,
so I sat on the floor and I swore at the night
that so shameful, and graceless, and crookedly hung.
But the neighbors were sleeping, so I bit my tongue.
Oh, my mother's a brave woman,
she sits at home while my father's away.
My father's a strange lover,
and I am too sorry to call her today.
Early that day I had taken a stroll,
where the sidewalks are breaking and the grasses take hold.
I was struck by the way the sun calmly alights
on the faces of buildings, and the people outside,
and a timeless regret twisted sweetly behind.
I have a teller who's so friendly!
She knows my name and she asks, how's my day?
When we're talking about the weather,
I am transported, oh, miles away.
Some days you'd bring me a soft animal,
and the teeth were so loving, and the eyes were so full.
Or you'd tell me a story of bodies you've known,
and the words were surprising, and the images bold,
and it takes all my strength not to let it take hold.
I bought a book for it's old binding,
sent from an age so discreet and refined.
It told the life of a great poet,
brought page by page to its place in my mind.
