That Perennial Western Malady, the Revolt of the Individual Against the Species

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Sunday, March 20, 2005

Fever Dream

Some days her shape in the doorway
Will speak to me
A bird's wing on the window

Sometimes I'll hear when she's sleeping
Her fever dream
A language on her face

I want your flowers
Like babies want God's love
Or maybe as sure as tomorrow will come

Some days like rain on the doorstep
She'll cover me
In grace in all she offers

Sometimes I'd like just to ask her
What honest words
She can't afford to say

Like I want your flowers
Like babies want God's love
Or maybe as sure as tomorrow will come

--Samuel Beam

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