The Naomi Songs: No. 3, When Our Hands Are Alone
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Lyrics
I slouch in bed
Beyond the streaked trees of the window
All groves are bare
Locusts and poplars change into unmarried women
Sorting seed from anthracite
Between railroad ties
The yellow-bitter winter of the Depression
They still arrive somewhere
An old man counting his collection
Of bottlecaps
In a tar-paper shack under the cold trees
Of my grave
I still feel half-drunk
And all those old women beyond my windows
Are hunching towards the graveyard
Drunk mumbling Hungarian
The sun shatters in
And his big stupid face
Patches into the stone
For two hours I have been dreaming
Of green butterflies searching for diamonds
In coal-seeps
And children chasing each other
For a game
Through the hills of fresh graves
But the sun has come home drunk on the sea
And a sparrow outside
Sings of Hanna Kokon
Under the dead moon the filaments
Of cool lightbulbs tremble
In music like delicate birds
I turn it off