She called him Felix Which meant 'lucky' to her He was a middle-distance runner She didn't take him seriously But shifted in her seat when he walked by
He thought her plain But sensual in some way She licked the corner of her mouth thoughtfully Wore her skirts above the knee
He told her a story about a pair of green and gold yarn gloves That he'd been given It was a sting of recognition She realized he'd given those gloves to her When he left it had the feel of a little tradition
Lash solitude to the wind But when you leave again Leave something of you with them Tie your fishing lines to the fence posts And do your best to reel them in
The candle flickers You measure morals by unsturdy things Tear leaves off of the sycamore Pin down the butterfly's wings
"I never knew it got this cold in August Here in Tuscon" "Only in the evening There's nothing here to hold the heat The sun goes down It floats off and is lost
Anyway, you've got a jacket Tell me where you got that necklace" He looked across the parking lot At the path under the highway At the mouth of it a man slung bags of cans across his back He coughed, and he turned back to the table
She told him a story of a hand embroidered pillow She'd been given It was with a sting of recognition He realized she'd given him that pillow When she left it had the feel of a little tradition
So lash solitude to the wind But when you leave again Leave something of you with the Tie your fishing lines to fence posts And do your best to reel them in
The candle flickers You measure morals by unsturdy things Tear leaves off of the sycamore And pin down the butterfly's wings