I find my finger tracing silhouettes of strangers

As I tap my foot and stare outside the glass pane in front of me

Onto the street where passersby greet the crisp morning air

With knit scarves and hats and boisterous jackets and saddlebags at the hip,

Ready to ride into town and run out the sheriffs in charge of the show

On West End and Broadway.
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Flurries of snow greet the ground with thunderous applause

As I sip my brew, intertwining fingers with my mug like lovers

And tracing silhouettes of strangers standing at the corner

With my free hand.
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The silent footsteps remind me of the cars at Piccadilly Circus on the first snow of the season,

And how all rhyme and reason belong to silhouettes of strangers that walk past the storefronts and stoplights and billboards and Barclay's

Instead of the steady sound of tires screeching and stopping traffic

In this picturesque place.
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A winter's day in New York is a lot like a winter's day in London;

Silhouettes of strangers are outlined by the fingers of fresh-faced people sipping coffee in a corner café.

They tap their feet and wait for a silhouette to escape the bellowing silence of the snow and the roar of the barren roads.

All they want is to intertwine their fingers with another,

Instead of a lukewarm mug.

A river runs
While a lake stands still
And the mountains eclipse and make dwarves of the hills.
The meadow blooms,
The flowers swoon
As the sunlight of day paves a path for the moon.
As I lie here alone in a desolate state
Immersed in my senses but unfit to relate,
I can't help but notice I'm incredibly small
Surrounded by beauty and grandeur and all.
No friends to console me except the whistling pines,
No one to reach out and hold me
But the wheatgrass feels fine.
When I speak
My words fall like anchors in the sea;
The little waves of the lake that hear them
Shake their heads in disbelief.
The only truth I now hold to heart
Is that oftentimes life takes us back to the start.
A river runs
While a lake stands still
And the mountains are eclipsed by
My power of will.

"I'm full of holes and sinking fast," she said as she told me she needed new faces and a fresh start. She thought what we had between us was irreparable, and by human standards she was right.

In my naiveté, I tried to patch and fill them with imperfect hands and carnal substance.

With temporal eyes, we couldn't see that the many "holes" she thought she had was just a single void, and I was trying to do the job of the Carpenter.

Remember when we talked about angels
Under the sunless sky so dark
It was as if we were the only two sparks left in the world?

Do you remember when we wondered
If they took on life just to walk next to us down the street,
Or to sit down next to us when we cry away our pain
Over a lukewarm cup of coffee?

Do you remember how you felt that night
When you laughed with conviction
And wiped tears from your eyes
Because you were absolutely certain
God sent you an angel in disguise?

I stopped at a red light
And heard

I waited in the checkout line
And heard

I walked the dog along a sidewalk with weeds in the cracks
And heard

I made tomorrow's lunch for work
And heard

I laid sprawled out on my bed
And heard

Sirens
Horns
Gunshots
Ringing
Screaming


One night of anger.

How can I love
When my coffee *** is only half full
Because you're not here anymore
To smile with me every morning?

How can I love
When I still find your hair in my car
And can't bear to throw it away
Because it's the only piece of you I have left?

How can I love
When the same sun warms our faces
But you're not here for me to cool
Your lips with an iced tea kiss?

How can I love
When my coffee *** is only half full
Because I didn't make enough for three
When I called off work without a warning?

I wanted it to be you
I bled for it to be you
I prayed for it to be you
But there was always someone else
In my bed