Distant Stations

I found an old rock in the dry dirt outside

The door of my motel room.

It was a triangle with soft rounded edges

And a split down the middle of one corner.

It was darker than english moss.

Green like the soft frills of a peacock's plume.

I waited for you, but i never told you where i was.

It was you who taught me how to write these kinds of equations.

I waited on the steps for you,

And i hid in the bushes whenever a car pulled into the parking lot.

You taight me how to listen to these distant stations.

Distant stations.

I saw the sky break.

I threw a rock at a crow who was playing in the mulch of some rose bushes by the motel office.

Missed him by a good yard or two.

I sang old songs from nowhere.

Los angeles.

Albuquerque.

I said a small prayer for the poor and the naked and the hungry.

And i prayed real hard for you.

I waited for you, but i never told you where i was.

It was you who taught me how to write this kind of equation.

I waited on the steps for you,

And i hid in the bushes whenever a car pulled into the parking lot.

You taight me how to listen to these distant stations.

Distant stations.