It's a still life watercolor

Of a now late afternoon

As the sun shines through the curtain lace

And shadows wash the room



And we sit and drink our coffee

Couched in our indifference

Like shells upon the shore

You can hear the ocean roar



In the dangling conversation

And the superficial sighs

The borders of our lives



And you read your Emily Dickinson

And I my Robert Frost

And we note our place with bookmarkers

That measure what we've lost



Like a poem poorly written

We are verses out of rhythm

Couplets out of rhyme

In syncopated time.



And the dangling conversation

And the superficial sighs

Are the borders of our lives



Yes we speak of things that matter

With words that must be said

Can analysis be worthwhile?

Is the theatre really dead?



And how the room has softly faded

And I only kiss your shadow

I cannot feel your hand

You're a stranger now unto me



Lost in the dangling conversation

And the superficial sighs

In the borders of our lives