Skimming and scanning
the grammar of the riverbank’s
brown leaf, new shoot syntax
a bold type wren,
like the old bouncing ball of singalongs,
led my eye to read the waterline
and yet I still couldn’t discern
if smiles or tears were written
while the branch tips still scribed

I don’t know if I wander about in your dreams
I just can’t decide if I’d rather be rumor or fact
I feel like a silent movie with a broken light
I need to know my audience so I know how to act

I had a pain like something serious in your chest
It felt like I should call a doctor but it’s not that bad
Most times I forget it ever happened
But this time it lingered and made be sad

It’s too bad we can’t tune our life up like a guitar
We get stretched and left in a corner somewhere
But in the right hands we can make magic again
It’d be easy if we could just find someone to care

I think I need to start by not thinking about happy
It’s a goal but at the same time it’s just too much
Why does life always have to be a project anyway?
The only way to get there is to lighten our touch