It takes a midnight
to get to a morning.
It takes time to put, ducks in a row.
Too many blankets and too many dogs,
kick off the covers,
uncover your arms.
Hold it to my ear like a phone.
When the spring will believe in this leaving.
And the leaves will spring up and drop off,
you said
"oh my God. I love you, and how. Oh, did I say that, out loud?"
I don't want my ears to burn.
When the rain came, it sounded like breathing.
All banana peels, and I couldn't fall.
Hold the phone
hold the phone
hold the phone to the ground.
It's the contract of canyons and mountains.
White mountains that leave you alone.
Leave you undone,
with sleep in your eyes,
too quietly rise,
like a crane, flying.
From here on out, I'm on my own.
I'm a moisture stain, on the ceiling.
I'm a lattice, clinging to dust.
I'm settling onto your face
And I know for a while, you'll brush me away
and I'll become water and rust.
When the woodsmoke finally found us
did we really smell it at all?
Hold the phone
hold the phone
hold the phone
to the call.
Running easy, in a barely-there harness.
Hold it close and then let it all fall.
Hold the phone
hold the phone
hold the phone,
to the call.