Fist upon knotted wood,
You run to the door,
Open to the cold night and blustery wind,
Rain falling on step so empty.
I was there,
In your heart for a moment,
My atonement to you a teasing ghost,
Giving so little and taking the most,
I was there.
You can still see the way I stood,
Feet equally placed upon uneven ground,
How I would seem to know you where there,
Even if you thought you made not a sound.
It was the beating of your heart,
The way your hair fell across you face,
Golden strands covering wildly tranquil pools of blue...
...the sounds of you.
I hear you as the valley hears the thunderous roar,
Avalanche,
They way your hair falls in front of your eyes,
Avalanche.
Your looks fall upon me like a feather,
Your words caress my ears like sweet mountains falling,
Sweet in their tone,
Immense in how I hear them.
I can see your words,
I can hear your looks,
I can...
I could never bear the taste of your tears...
Irony is a wise and clever child,
Wily and mild in that irony dances about my shoulders,
Wrapping reality around my lips,
Till I cannot speak of you...
Wrapping mortality around my mind,
Till I can't remember what you looked like...
All dreams fade with the waking,
This is the kindness that keeps my dreams...
...from becoming nightmares.