We walked two miles through July wheat fields
that undulated  beneath Sunday morning sun
like golden swans.

The pond was glacier stone smooth, and canopied
by silver maple and swamp oak; willows lined
the  banks.

Miriam unfastened her hair, tossed her blouse
over my shoulders,  kicked her cut-offs
toward the boat’s bow,

and dove.

Do you mean the ones who live on the other side?
Clear across the ocean, two miles in from the tide?

The ones that live with little means or the ones that live like we were meant to?
That work, play, stress, fear, and cry, just like we do?

The men who were created from the earth and the women from Adam's rib?
The ones who fall asleep staring at the same galaxies wondering if we're all there is?

Do you mean the ones in straw houses near dirt roads?
That learn how to survive on the land and wear the clothes that they sew?

Others and me,
I'm sorry, pardon me... I'm just slightly confused
Because when I think of them, I think of me
I can't separate the two.

What if you could read another person's thoughts
What if you could hear their mind
If you could see what they think...
You may be better off blind

I want to leave this place,
find somewhere else in which to live.
For I've given here all I have to give.
Find a place I belong,
In a new and happy song.
I could sing about the night,
How the moon in full glory shines so bright.
I would sing about the rain,
How it washed away my tears of pain
and led me to the other side where skies are blue.
That's all i can do...
to not let this world ruin me.