I looked at her and we didn't speak
I doubt she even saw me
My imaginations start to leak
knowing that she'll find her key
In this moment we are the same age
she is my half, better or worse
I grew in her heart close cage
But she set me free of course
I've heard tales but they couldn't be the same
as being there in that little house for rent
when she went by another name
when she lived with love and a single cent
I wish it could be but I know it never will
To live one day in this frame, not as a still

A single life can make all the difference
They didn't just die that day, but there remain each day hence
Too many closed caskets leave open seats at the table
and bicycle lessons from mom cause dad isn't able

True loss is in the blank canvases, empty pages with pencils sharp
And in the overgrown gardens and the silent harp
Potential never realized in the inventions never made
In the empty desk on the first day of sixth grade

Like a fish that doesn't know water exists
We add names like groceries to the list
Three letters mark every bullet in the clip
The "END" in someone's friendship

Count the cost of a conversation with a stone in the ground
In place of a daughter in a wedding gown?
For power, greed, hate, or just by mistake
We will never know the cost of the lives we take

He's there at airports and doctor's offices
between my love and I and when I'm at work

and when I invite him to come out and stay with my friends
and at family gatherings on holidays he never shows

I say, "Time, you're starting to **** me off."
He replies, "You should see me when I'm wasted."

you slept on the inside of the bed
I on the outside
you were cooler
I was calmer
and we talked of everything
but of course - mostly - nothing
you left early in the morning
I slept while you readied

you eskimo kissed my nose
to say you were leaving
and leaving me there
and before my smile reached both ears
you reached the door and were gone
but still there in my head
heading toward my heart

Ms. Belvedere oh won't you oblige
my simple request for a spot of tea
Into the fire I've cast my letters
from you I never received

I sang SOS to you through the radio
but you were not scanning when I tried
someone else heard and to me, responded
"When does swimming turn into drowning?" I cried.

'Dere I see you in sketches on wooden tables
and inserts in the newspapers now and then
When even if your radio's on one day
I'll likely never swim again