We rode a green metal glider
Neath an oak tree circus tent
In midsummer the moon watching
thru limbs that touched the ground
But I wasn’t really there

Just some man-boy clad in white
Denims, Jesus sandals and
Jersey Number 88
Yet I seldom played or prayed
Because I was never really there

And you, brighter than the moon
Painted secrets on the night sky
Of plastic princes and Vincent
Working with his knife
But I really wasn’t there

Grooving in your atelier
With Segovia, Mozart and
Dylan, biding our time until
The night of your gay Fall soiree
When I of course wasn’t there