Listen to a silence for once, and
even if I can’t hear the scattered noise,
you don’t know what I’m feeling.
I’ve waited so long just to wander,
Joni croons through my headphones
and I become miserable on a highway
all because I miss the scent of him.
I am a crazy woman that jumps through hoops.
I am the lightning bolt that goes unheard,
that strikes from that dark cloud in the night,
far off into unknown distances, corn fields quiet,
and nobody else tries to figure out this crazy life
that takes me through fire and melancholy and
overrunning thoughts and cosmic chances.
On soulful Sundays I would simmer in fantasy,
in my dreams I’ve been to so many places,
yet not the deserts, or the bluest oceans,
the white-capped mountains or old architecture,
the things I couldn’t imagine until I go;
wanderlust withers away at my bones.
But this is a different time, and meeting him
was only ever real, tangent, and radiant;
on every other day of the week, I lose
my head and my heart through the hours,
he has spoiled me with pure joyfulness,
and I fall to fondness and euphoria,
and here’s the insanity: I don’t want to leave.
I found a home in his arms, and a wave and
a shiver in his touch, a wind of powerful emotion,
and Palermo and backpacks and vineyards
all fade to this curse, this gift of desire and growing
old with someone, the man is my eighth world wonder.
It doesn’t matter if he is my first or my last,
but I wish I had the courage to just say love,
I wish his lion hearted name, busted red surefire,
would help lead the way to free my own soul
and let it fly through the sky, to see clearer with
someone beside you, to serenade softly so as to soar,
to sift through sufferings and stay standing.
I’m trying to be a better woman, a sure thing,
assure the power and raise the prideful banners,
convince the rook that I would never go backwards,
that I know what I’m doing, that it’s possible
to build a home in something alive without risk,
someone walking, talking, spontaneous and settled,
that you can change the key halfway through the song
and still be alright, still be the same and creational,
and I can have this without fear trying to sneak in,
without the old hatred whispering worthlessness.
There’s jokes out of his mouth and a freak imagination,
there’s my old original laugh, one-two-ha’s, breaking the quiet,
and my eyes will latch onto this scene with fascination,
whether or not he stays or life breaks us somehow,
or it heals us with its absurdity and madness.
Here I am running with consideration and just like
a good dream that you can’t remember when you wake up,
hope trickles with reserves; it sinks itself into the deepest scars
and lets you finally admire them for what they are worth,
I roll over a new box of time, a separate before and after,
one of possibility with him and more time in it, the beauteous and bold
that we’ve exposed to each other, this is why it feels like shelter.
Listen to a silence for once, and tell me, is this a young woman
renewed, or overtaken by emotion? Am I just another fool
in love, influenced by cosmic or alien spells, and if so,
the arrow must hurt at some point, or so they’ve warned me,
but I’ve only been on a discovery for new depths within,
and I could be someone who has freed love or a broken one,
but I had already leaped before certainty, before I knew danger,
and if you knew what I felt — I have not touched the ground yet.
Listen to a silence for once, and