Some nights I wonder,

When it'll be more than pretty colors sloshed

on a blank canvas

With sad lines drawn to hold it in.

(hold what in? there's no substance—)

Some nights I wonder,

If there are any birds to take flight

When everything's gone quiet,

and I can't hear myself breathing.

(the answer's probably no;

the park's been empty for years now,

But old men keep dreaming,

And the children keep seeing).

Some nights I wonder

if the pool's so shallow,

Why am I still drowning?

(Never did learn how to swim)

And some far nights I wonder

if anyone realizes;

there's no moon with early eyes,

to see the rising embers in the coiled marshes.

And on the very cold nights I wonder to myself,

where the warmth comes from.

(Not from within;

it's too empty there.)


And every night, I wonder

if the sun will come up in the morning.