Where do we go when we go to a place
That simply is no place at all?
When we step out of time to become nothing more
Than a memory few can recall?
How can we be when we no longer are?
Or, earlier, not yet have been?
A bit of eternity sits in our souls
Though we live in the house of the wind.
Consciousness comes like a stranger to call,
Both us and yet something quite more.
Where it may come from and where it may go
Is a wonder behind a locked door.
Sorry for being a jealous cow
And not trusting you.
Love should have moved me to believe
That what you said was true.
If I love you, I respect
Your being and your word.
To love someone and live in fear
I see now is absurd.
But love it was that made me fear,
A narrow, winding love
That twists itself around itself
To chain what it can’t move.
A love of desperate need, not joy,
Of codicils, not song.
A love that grasps instead of gives,
Most weak when it’s most strong.
So please forgive my lack of trust;
I know much better now.
Love’s parody will not again
Make me a jealous cow.
