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A HEART FOR HER RETURN
My mother used to swing me
like the four-leaf wings of windmills.
Round and round she'd swing her baby boy,
her squeeling window sill.
And dad looked on delirious,
my brothers sisters too,
forever waiting on their chance
to be spanned around the room,
like mountains air and oceans
spinning on the world.
Still from time to time I miss the twirl.
God, I get so low without a girl.
God, I get so low without a girl.
Thirty years a woman,
two kids and short hair,
some man's name around her neck,
a bell whose ring she'll never share,
with rings around her fingers,
and socks over her hands,
stained glass on her irises,
Atlantis' melted sand.
Too free with her opinions
on the songs she wished I'd sing.
The one about the pepper lake
and the one on lady spring.
Can I sing them in some other tongue?
Some distant romance one?
Honest bricks of honesty,
I threw their weight around.
How I broke the windows,
the way I built this town.
Three children by two fathers,
still standing on her knees,
with one dead smile per pocket,
while I traffic melodies.
Sometimes I think an echo
is like the shadow of a sound,
like the shoes strung up on telephone wires
means a dealer has been around.
Somewhere around the bend,
the end, my friends, the end.
Horse on the horizon.
Souls leaping around.
Here now on the count of three,
breath in while I breath out.
DAS - Omaha, Nebraska, USA
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