I rolled the window down this morning,
And that's when it came to me.
The sun was a drum on the mountain
Playing indispensably.
And a trestle bridge slid through the tree line
With a velocity like rust.
I collapsed at the wheel of my automobile
At all the beauty I could never touch.
I know a woman -- she's strong as roses,
She's open as a mouth,
She's full of colored thunder,
A vineyard's waterspout.
She invites me to go swimming,
Wade in the lake in the moonlight.
She's peeling down my onion;
I'm so scared what she might find.
I'm writing this from the ugly of whiskey,
From this bucket filled with ash,
From this blurry magnification
Of a busted looking glass.
I've got as many eyes as I'm supposed to,
Just as many hands.
Beauty is all that I'm looking for,
But noise is all I get.
Window whipping perfume blossoms,
Like eyelashes against my face.
My heart erupts with sadness.
A decision must be made:
Now, I could cover my face this autumn,
Drown the drumming of the sun with the blues,
Or I could humbly bow to that trestle bridge,
And get as close as I can to you.