I saw the fluttering night light.
I heard the hammering beak.
I listened to the words you didn’t speak,
But I was only hearing things.
There were the shuddering poplars,
There was a deafening crack.
I could have sworn you begged me, “Hurry back,”
But I was only hearing things.
I opened up the note my mother wrote me:
She said happiness was not my cup of tea,
And if I found contentment,
I wouldn’t write a bit.
She thought I ought to get a handle on it.
I touched the blue delphinium.
I felt the summer go.
The ancient pier was moaning low,
Or I was only hearing things.
I made my reservation,
Admired the driving rain.
Was that my next-door neighbor playing “’A’ Train?”
There was the topic that you touched upon so lightly,
And then you might have heard me whimper slightly.
What if we let it blossom?
What if we let it bleed?
What if we get what we need?
I swung ‘round to the very same location,
Then arrived in a different place.
You and I never reached our destination,
But we were in its airspace.
As the plane made its less than graceful landing,
I saw tears on a tiny face.
You and I never reached an understanding,
But we were in its airspace.