Too Soon To Close

Every time winter bleeds out spring,

when I hear dying colours sing,
I’m on the horn again to tell you everything.

I pray you let it ring, let it ring.

When I see you on a shining street,

marching to a solitary beat,
I plant my flag down at the flowers of your feet.

Then, I yell retreat, retreat.

Because you’re too deep in me,

and everybody knows.
You put a wound on me,

and it’s too soon to close.

Mostly in the silent nights

I look at that wine to water photograph I took.
I catch myself and slip me off the hook

to close the book, close the book.

If I see you down the road,

I’ll lay every polished stone I want to say.
I’ve rehearsed each gem see in my one-man play.

I hope you stay away, stay away.