I have a son
not too far south
of me, close enough
to jump in my car
and go speak of my love

but I won't put a bit
in his mouth or saddle
him with my troubles

We could cut our palms
open with sharp knives
and be blood brothers
the rest of our lives

and I could find another
woman in the mountains
instead of staying here
with his mother he loves
while he swims his own
sea of life without me

instead I drive long drives
and count the keys
on the black piano
of the highways at night
passing beautiful women
who wave and smile back

but I'm only dreaming
keeping night watch
over my bed,  I dream
about old songs that sing
back to me like one
by Townes Van Zandt
about going down to see
a woman named Kathleen.