A smoking glance in summertime, a
gift she chose to leave behind
Is all that keeps me turning back
along the southern line
And I ride, drifting towards
absolution On tracks laid down
to run away;
Planks and steel
on gravel,
nothing more.
I declare asylum
in the darkness of the bar car
with the smell of a cigarette
lingering on my breath
and the sore joints of my
elbows
taking their well-earned rest
on the edge of the bar
(more for balance than for
appearance)
while all my dreams
and angers and loves
buy me a drink
with an extra olive
and offer me this next dance
and do I come here often?
As I slip quietly
into another bottle,
my dreams
and angers
and loves
all offer me a warm bed to
sleep in
and another chance at being young
if I would only have this dance
and if I would only have another
drink
with an extra
olive
and an extra helping
of dreams
and angers
and loves
that only wish
to have some company
of their own.
Sorry, I reply, but being young
is already gone,
just out of reach
but "youth" is another story.
Withdraw into a conch shell
and the whisper of the ocean floor
will offer you its final breath;
Hold your thoughts and resign
into the serenity of the billows.
Palm fronds crackle in the wind,
deceiving us by playing the rain
in this summer play;
in harmony with the ocean song.
Embers rise from the stone pit
wishing us farewell
as they plummet deeper into the shell.
We follow them down the spiral,
twisting clockwise to the cadence
of a million ocean waves
at our ears.
And on the beach
we are discovered
in the haze of the
setting
sun--
the setting,
setting
sun.
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