I should know
Who I am by now
I walk
Record stands somehow
Thinking of winter
Your name is the splinter
Inside me

While I wait
I remember the sound
Of your November downtown
I remember the truth
A warm December with you

But I don't
Have to make
This mistake
And I don't
Have to stay
This way

If only I would wake

I walk this town
And fear by now
Your voice is all i hear somehow
Callin' out winter
Your voice is the splinter
Inside me

While I wait
I remember the sound
Of your November downtown
And I remember the truth
A warm December with you

But I don't
Have to make
This mistake
And I don't
Have to stay
This way

If only I would wake

I cold have lost myself
In rough blue waters
In your eyes

And I miss you still

I remember the sound
Of your November downtown
I remember the truth
A warm December with you

But I don't
Have to make
This mistake
And I don't
Have to stay
This way

If only I would wake

I knew a monkey who wore a silk scarf
It made him look sophisticated
I remember seeing him one day
climbing and swinging from the tree to the roof as three people chased him in vain..
He had something in his mouth, a set of keys i think. I watched and laughed and it still makes me smile.
I haven't seen the tricky monkey in a long time.
I heard he went of on a big adventure and is now rich.
Good for him!
There was a time we were close.
I still feel sad he's not around and I miss his mischievous ways.

Harshness vanished. A sudden softness
has replaced the meadows' wintry grey.
Little rivulets of water changed
their singing accents. Tendernesses,

hesitantly, reach toward the earth
from space, and country lanes are showing
these unexpected subtle risings
that find expression in the empty trees

She kissed me like
She
Kept
Dropping
Her
Keys.
She looked like paper,
But smelled of smoke
And had maps
Tattooed down her arms.
They were her roads,
Not meant for others.
I waited on the porch,
Knowing all paths led back,
Eventually.

They rise from the treetops.
Black, hollow, plain.
Looking like black snow
falling from the sky.
They are silent and beautiful.
Against the grey backdrop of
the sky, they are ink drops--
ink drops that
move with the wind.
And just as suddenly as
they appeared,
they are gone.

All armies are the same
Publicity is fame
Artillery makes the same old noise
Valor is an attribute of boys
Old soldiers all have tired eyes
All soldiers hear the same old lies
Dead bodies always have drawn flies

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.