The morning, for your imagination's pleasure.
She's all that I see
And all that I breathe
Take a breath and hold her in
As the shadows whispering
And I can hear the laughter
Knowing what they're after
While she flies beside me
A man with broken wings
There is a crack that runs from the floor to the ceiling in a lazy zigzag in the front hallway. The pictures on the walls are never straight. There might be muddy paw prints on the kitchen floor and the sun comes beaming through the sheer curtains each morning, beginning in the front hall and working through the house to dip below the fence that separates our yard from the next.
There are dirty teacups in the sink, and stack of books on the steps waiting to be put away on the crowded shelves upstairs. A giant Nova Scotia flag flutters gently in the porch window now and a giant Newfoundlander sings Gravedancer in the music room downstairs, because the kids appear to be sleeping in today. We leave the basement door open in the summer and the laundry's thundering in the ever-noisy dryer but Jacob sings above it, never shy about singing as loud as he feels the urge. I can hear him perfectly.
Perhaps instead of the carpentry as a new career he could go back to being a rock star.
Well, a fledgling rock star anyway. I can hear the girlies screaming again now. God how they screamed. Oh I was so happy when he gave it up and he didn't even belong to me then.
The coffeepot is full, and so is my heart this morning. All is well.
I meet Joel for lunch at 1 pm sharp.
And everytime that we feel it
It's just another long wasted night
And the dance that we tear
Is just another way for you to roll over me
And the bed that we're sharing
Is the home that I wanna bring you
Want to feel you
I don't want to hear you
