Sitting in a hotel room in a remote village
looking at all man does, the massacre, the pillage
I look at you taking on the life, daring the devil
standing on just one foot on the window sill
your pink and white gown as sharp as it goes
against the wind that’s playing with your upturned toes
your hair a wild flower’s raging leaves
mismatched with a sky no one believes
to exist anymore save you the lively you
who are in the roadless world the only avenue
picking your fights with care and giving your care away
standing for who you are without any sway
going about your life and looking down
the poor devil doesn’t know — he is your pawn
*****
Sitting in a hotel room in a far away land
I have the power and the will to once again stand
and I owe it all to you for being you
what an absurd sentence, but it is true
I look at you, against the maroon sky a pinkish taint
you look like mother earth, the holy saint
to whom people would bind the lives of their firstborn
and whom they love and adore and look at with scorn
I see you standing there, and tapping your feet
as if the morning sun’s glory you wish to greet
breathing in gray and giving it back all red
as rich as the blood the warriors shed
in all wars past and in all that are to come yet
even if I don’t know for sure I am willing to bet
*****
Sitting in a hotel room in a remote village
breathing in deep, leaving the cage
with you beside me to take off the weight
and I cannot tell you that you are so great
standing on one foot with the wind in your hair
bearing the colorful morning sun’s glare
and looking down your breath mingled with mine
hanging in a cloud in above the green pine
in the cold morning’s blessed air
in that far away hotel in an unknown square
with the clock ticking away and ringing for seven
it’s morning time and I’m with you, it’s like heaven
*****
Sitting in a hotel room in a land far away
where you pick colors for anything that’s dull gray
I can live on that moment forever and then some more
and keep drinking the hot British tea you pour
our breathes hanging in the air in the cold morning wash
of the willow-scented air as I crush
fresh and newly plucked fruit from the farm so near
and in your presence I forget the fear
that I am aging old and my life is a by-gone
because you are my star, my moon, and my sun
24 July 2011
19:24