dusk in phnom penh, photo by Joness Lang

Forgetting Is So Long

for Hank

He lives out in Pomona in the shadow of New York
The traffic drives him crazy on the turnpike home from work
His habits hang their laundry on the branches of his skill
Momentum isn't welcome once you start to go downhill
A man should never trust a church that uses folding chairs
Elbows take a beating when you’re falling down the stairs
The boats out on the Hudson, their lights tonight are dim
The telephone’s not ringing, that's how I know it’s him

It was last December when the angels took his love
The rain still taps its fingers on the window up above
The coffee on the table and the pack of cigarettes
The spirit humming softly next the roar of his regrets
Come to me, sweet sorrow, keep my body in your clutch
My skin is almost shining and I’m lonely for your touch
He’s walking by the shore now where the bears of memory swim
The telephone’s not ringing, that’s how I know it’s him

The long night is an appetite, it waits for us with knives
The body falls, the spirit calls, the lonely heart survives
The winter light is sullen and the summer long since past
The days are run by errands done, the sun goes down too fast
John Stewart on the stereo, the knife cut to the bone
July, you’re a woman more than any one I’ve known
The flask from his coat pocket clinks against the goblet’s rim
The telephone’s not ringing, that's how know it’s him

He kept a nightly vigil, took his mercy on the chin
A shaman came to share a drink, a woman named Ailinn
In an old saloon where the silver moon spills its healing light
The jar, the seal, the rock, the wheel, the triggers of the night
Then the awful silence and the banging of the door
The wind sweeping the ashes up from off the hardwood floor
He cannot find the music, but he still recalls the song
Love is oh so brief, my love, forgetting is so long

It was only last December when the angels took his love
The rain still taps its fingers on the window up above
The coffee on the table and the pack of cigarettes
His spirit humming softly next the roar of his regrets
Come to me, sweet sorrow, keep my body in your clutch
My skin is almost shining and I’m lonely for your touch
He’s walking by the Hudson where the bears of memory swim
The telephone’s not ringing, and so I know it’s him

DL