Do my crying underwater
I can’t get down any farther
All my drowning friends can see
Now there is no running from it
It’s become the crux of me
I wish that I could rise above it
I can’t get down any farther
All my drowning friends can see
Now there is no running from it
It’s become the crux of me
I wish that I could rise above it
“Demons,” The National
well before she could recognize it
but the way he came to understand
in those first days when they orbited
each other’s temporarily separate worlds
she would come to him & hook her hand
into his choosing him to follow her, to listen
& this he came to long for in her absence
the briefest of connections merging planets
this initial gesture of love & anticipation
grew to hand holding embracing kissing
the inevitables of making love & slipping
into each other as if nothing else could matter
but soon followed the other sort of inevitable
the complacency of habit & forgetting the hook
•
tears remain tears
at the bottom of the pool
where no one can see
the sobbing & crying
the stoicism of holding your breath
& the infinite solitude of water
•
long after she did recognize it
& the way he fell back through time
she hooked her hand in his hand
reaching for him to follow, to listen
& he shot to the surface to inhale
hurled back fourteen years to then
hooked & longing for it in her absence
& once again floating on it in her presence
No comments:
Post a Comment