Untitled

March 13, 2004

I stand alone, with light
dying on a western horizon
just like all nights, so far.
But I wonder where you are
and who you are
and how I will ever
find out if this was true,
tried and loved and blazed
up against the sights
of vast blank sky
turning natural black
with pockmarks of stars
bright and endless dots
I try to remember the way
to connect to make the
ancient pictures agreed
before time was clocked.

A thousand nights,
this was just the one.
My hands were up,
held to the stars,
and I felt my fingers,
making a steeple,
then the forefingers curled
over my thumbs, and made two
little circles similar
to glasses worn over the eyes.

I stood there, a few
more nights, alone, before
the wind grew too cold.

I watched my hands
make glasses,
but never knew why.

And in the moment
that I looked on the
cover of the album
I knew you were showing
me a little of your world
but I didn't know
why that image
was chosen among
millions that were
your own.

That could be a thousand
years long passed.
That could be just yesterday.

I look upon a new
cover with new images
and remember stars
in the sky as that night,
and try to form lines
from one dot to another
and think I see clear
past the words you lied.

I pretend I was abashed,
ashamed, and refuted.
Instead, it is really
just me and you building
the wall against
everyone else
so I can remain
here, and hope for
another life
where maybe you and I
will be part of the
same world.