She had been dreaming it for years
Breathing and murmuring, breathing and murmuring
Just let me feel your fingers again on the back of my neck
I walked here. A long, long, long, long way
Some things go. Pass on. Some things just stay
There was nowhere else gracefully to go
And you have never before asked me where I was going when I left the house
Now come read a story with me
Machines were rumbling from inside it
I had to hold my breath as I stood there
Personally, I didn’t like the apartment much
I took them along a bumpy track
So I’m sick of talking about myself, sir
She put her hand on his shoulder
No one goes home empty-handed
His wife had just told him she was leaving him
Freedom was what they sought. Struggle was what they had lived through
He left a trail of sawdust wherever he went
And if you get lost, just look for yourself
He shook the man’s hand. Moist was the word
He knew how things worked again
His body was somewhere it had never been before
For him the green of the field was a magic light
He was always too willing and nice, too considerate, too generous
Happiness might come the way of early morning
He never spoke anyway, so how could he have said anything wrong?
And then he took one step closer
He wondered whether he had counted right
There is nothing in his world but himself
Life had moved on and left you behind floundering in its wake
I don’t think I have ever felt more alive, he thought
Your soul has become architecture
Wherever I looked, I saw me
I’ve never stayed anywhere else for any length of time
But you know? Time is heartbreaking
If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it
You think I don’t know how to walk when I want to walk?
Come here. I want to show you something
I just want to get out alive and breathing
When night came he just sat, at the foot of a tree
It moves and changes from one kind of black to another
Some just empty. Some like fingers. And it don’t stay still
There’re five or six kinds of black. Some silky, some woolly
You think dark is just one color, but it ain’t
Through the blast of the gun and the picking of his pocket he slept like a baby
Look out, womens. Here he come. Huh!
He works quickly and with an air of extreme concentration
The man smiles when he sees that
He feels as if he were forgetting something
At home, the man sits with his eyes glued to the front door
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