I saw the sun rise this morning from the far end of the wing, and the shadow on the clouds left by the plane*
Following the geese leading out of Michigan, in the dusty sky I traced your name. Leaving in the dark as the fog rolled out her mist like a shroud on the sleeping lake, leaving more behind me than I arrived here with — half asleep and wide awake, half asleep and wide awake.
Who would see it coming: the movement of the stars, the falling and collision in the meeting of the heart?
You had to have some magic or some tricks up in that sleeve, rolled up to your elbow in the seams, or locked inside the canyon lines etched around your eyes, guarding some mystery.
You were like a satellite carving out your arc, orbiting the midnight moon and I watched you from the fireside, I watched you play guitar, and I think I fell a little bit too.
Who would see it coming: the movement of the stars, the falling and collision in the meeting of the heart?
My lips above your mouth were breathing in and out of time.
Tomorrow you'll fly your way, I'll trail these birds south and I'll see you next time.
But I never saw that coming: the movement of the stars, the falling and collision in the meeting of our hearts.
I saw the sun rise this morning from the far end of the wing and the shadow on the clouds left by the plane.
Leaving more behind me than I arrived here with half asleep and wide awake...