the bird that plucked the olive leaf
has been circling like a record never-ending in my mind
where the needle's worn the grooves too deep,

and scratched the wax that's blistered from the heat besides
so from any movement in the room-
if my cat walked by the arm skipped!

but to my surprise, my interrupting cat improved
a sound already so severely compromised


the needle's worn the grooves too deep

i'm a donkey's jaw on a desert dune

beside the bush that moses saw
that burned and yet was not consumed
she's the silver coin i lost,

i'm the sheep who slipped away
we pray the fingers crossed
but you listen patiently anyway


i wrote a little song for you
with a melody i'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhyme

to repeat what you already knew
as the stones thrown at your window tapped a syncopated time
you kept a distance out of fear you'd break

but what good's a single windchime, hanging quiet all alone?
the music our collisions would make
is a sound that turns the road-that-leads-us-back-home

into home.

the music our collisions make!


i had a rusty spade but i'm not the fighting sort
if i was samson i'd have found that harlot's blade

and cut my own hair short!
then in a market dimly lit i come casually to pay
you see my coins are counterfeit

but accept them anyway

so spare me your goodbyes,

your waving-handkerchief-good-byes
given my tendency to err so on the sentimental side
i'll spare you my goodbyes,

the truth belongs to g-d,
the mistakes were mine