6 March, 2009 at 12:44 (Uncategorized)

The ground is all covered in snow,
Who knows what you want now?
Finally the window is closed,
The curtains are draw,
and I see shapes against the pane,
that I will never see again.
Is the window bolted?
I guess I’m assuming it is.
And what were we thinking,
that’s the question isn’t it,
or what was I thinking.
Because I’m standing in the cold,
keeping myself warm with the candles,
old candles that I never
managed to thank you for when they were lit.
Do we make the future?
I like to think that looking back,
I knew how it would end.
But I didn’t,
only predicted,
and watched,
and waited
and the middle of the street
has always seemed the best sideline to me.
Best for peering in at windows
which you used never to close,
watching how the shapes moved,
seeing what they chose.
So I’m standing here,
fishing rod in hand, and a little piece of heather,
clipped to my coat,
and I’ll stand,
whoever wanders by,
and I’ll stand,
and listen to their promises,
and not quite look them in the eye,
when it comes to you.
The window is closed,
but still I hear,
all the words I ever wanted to,
and still I have seen,
more than I ever thought I would,
the shapes at the window,
the way you walked down the stairs,
and the day I really understood,
how good you were.

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