Look at the birds for me.
But not the swans.
You'd find it too difficult to see me there.
So choose the indistinguishable
grey silhouette of something else,
because that is me to you.
I don't expect you to find me in their strength,
not in their flight or their grace,
but in their movement,
they are always moving.
Only once did I see one that was still--
with its tiny beak parted and its pretty wings bent--
I pretended it was sleeping.
Do that for me, if you want.
But remember,
as surely as the precession of the equinoxes,
the birds come back.
Lucky for me, I'm not a bird.

He touched
           a woman
                        once,
   she gave him
                         a look,
                                              he took it in his heart for ever.

I hear your voice pound through my head
Even though you're barely dead
Here and gone like summer heat
Your voice still rocks me fast asleep
Take my dreams to a safer place
Where I can touch your lovely face
Where I can embrace you one moment more
I still remember when you walked out the door
If I'd had known that was the last
I would have never let you pass
But now you're gone and I'm alone
Still waiting for you call,
My eyes haven't left the phone

You know the feeling
when you toss someone a key,
a coin
or a compliment
and someone else leaps in the way
and snatches it from the air?

The unintended catcher,
however swift of reflex
and waggish of humour
has broken the spell,
interrupted the communication

This came to mind
when I heard
that my album was playing in the sandwich shop
to a cluster of hungry strangers.
And songs
which I had crafted
for a certain small collective

now hung heavy
with the smell of frying bacon
and the unasked impressions
of the wrong crowd.