Orange blossoms on candy apple trees; nonsense never mattered much to me. Do you feel snakes in your toes like a curse on your modesty? Speak up and out! I doubt you realize how different those two things can be. "Shake dreams from your hair, my pretty child" and forgive me now for dawn is the least of all I've wasted. I don't much care if you mind that I'll be growing figs where you always hoped I'd plant pine trees. Then I suppose if you really did feel the same curse that I have, our torn-rooted feet would have hissed and begged for a bit more thistle and violets instead. Do not mistake pointed words for silence; I know hope and color beyond reason. I miss mud in my hands and the blades of broken grass lying flush with the skin of my ankles. Loneliness is a lack of wind but bitterness is wind-blown grit in my teeth; I will never say I do not love them both. It's easy to miss the burn of coastal sun and forget the feel of sand under your fingernails. I have fought when it was not asked of me and I have been calm when I should have thrown a punch. Still you ask sharp pine of me when all I hope to grow is the soft wide leaves of fig trees. Don't look for anything but nonsense, because after the orange blossoms wilt I will caress tender leaves and watch blue Cuckoo birds carry away my ill-planted figs.

Colors blur and time becomes more than a little unstuck
Lavender and amber pour in through shutters
Slitted and still as my hazy eyes
Cool sharp breezes trickle in with muted light and
Run like the slow teasing slide of knives against my cheeks
Goosebumps and the heady scent of last night's incense
I am cold in the early morning light and it pulls me from a dream
Barely awake, blinded and chilled and alone
But my lips are alive in a memory and though my throat is dry
I find my quiet mouth seeking to fill the
Silence with the momentary ghost of your name

Wild hearts will roam
And those I love will leave me behind
But I can't wonder why
Because I have done the same to so many
Running both from and to
I've left the ones who'd otherwise follow
Without a word good-bye
Haste and fool-hardiness carried me far
I'd imagine you're the same
Wordlessly I'll watch you go and smile
Knowing what you never will
You and I are the ruthless, shapeless same

I dream of flying
Like swimming the water-less sky
Window after window
Windows too vast
To capture in one flit of my eye
So vast
So wide
I want them open
Leap and swim, Peter Pan
You never know until
The great white moth
Flees north of the night
More stars shine from below
So far
So far below
Than could ever fill the sky
Light after light
Too artificial light
And every window and portal I'd open
Is sealed impossibly tight

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.
And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.
Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.

Oh, come to me in dreams, my love!
   I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
   And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.

’Twas thus, as ancient fables tell,
   Love visited a Grecian maid,
Till she disturbed the sacred spell,
   And woke to find her hopes betrayed.

But gentle sleep shall veil my sight,
   And Psyche’s lamp shall darkling be,
When, in the visions of the night,
   Thou dost renew thy vows to me.

Then come to me in dreams, my love,
   I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
   And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.

When I first sold myself there were
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
All the marks of war
All that searing heat
With all that pretty malice
Spilling Paris in the street
‘Twenty marks’ I called
‘Twenty marks’
That was 1943
And Piaf was doing well

Nurse, do you know what it is like:
To have a man inside of you
that you could never love?

There was, once upon a time, a pretty little ****
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
Lying on my floor
And Maman was starving, and my sister, too
Dignity wasn’t half the tax it seemed before
He gave me a baby, and a disease,
That was 1944:
Piaf was quite successful, then

Doctor, can you fathom:
Having sores all over you?
Yes, down there, and
all up and down your thighs, your body burns.
Can you feel that?

Then, the Germans left, and the Allies came, all
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
All of that decor
Fleeing, running out
On the French horizon
Retreat
The Allies were the same
‘Three dollars’ I called
‘Three dollars’
That was 1945:
Piaf was languishing
Paris had died

Jacques, my dear:
Those were our times
smoky cabarets, sculptured croons, fine wines
your rifle on your back could wind my morning with worry
and with my scourges, you took me all the same
but what I remember is:
black cottons, brass buttons, iron crosses, steel machines
then:

nothing

“Monsieur Boursin - she has passed.”

He sobs,
it sounds like
war.