GREEN DRESS, WHITE SHOES
Shouldn’t have
to have happened
But it did and
it’s done.
I don’t even
remember her number
And there ain’t no way to relive it.
Death came like
a critique
Of
a work not yet written.
And when Death
speaks of Love…
When burning
arrows fly
Down
the path in the dark….
Green dress,
white shoes,
Cold as a block
of ice,
I sit beside her
corpse
Combing
her hair as I did as a child.
I got a bad
feeling tonight,
But it don’t matter.
I got a world
love,
Right
to my very soul.
At the top of the
hill, I just went
On out to see
what other’s need.
The precious
hours we shared stand still
As if they were
the most valuable trophies.
I owe my heart
to her.
Mountains came
together at their peaks
For
her to pass.
In the march of
everyday identity,
I threw a few
clothes into the sack.
No man knows his
constitution
Or
how he gave wholeheartedly.
Spoken word version from Homage.
Copyright © 2007 by Jim Cohn.