I Have This Memory If You Could Call It That

I have this memory
If you could call it that
Which I am going to do
So I guess you can, also

Of a cloudy autumn
Morning shackled by
Bare feet and guilty
Pleasures turned growing
Pains to cold, wet sand
On a beach somewhere
I’ve never been

I can feel the wind
Coming in off the water
Not a whispering wind
Not the gentle breeze
That comes with day break
In a romantic comedy written
By someone I might have slept
With in another life after
Wednesday night coctails on
The Upper East Side


A wind that sounds like
A mother scolding her eldest
Daughter for the first time
Firm, dominant, but uncharted
Not sure if it should be so
Bold and wrapping its invisible
Arms around me in understanding

The sea is a dark green
Chopping and foaming like
Man O War must have done
Behind starting gates on
Many a grey morning such
As this stunnnig in its
Cryptic impulsion

My hair is damp with the
Secrets the waves just
Couldn’t stand to keep a
Moment longer, all the things
They wish they hadn’t seen
And all the hope they wish
They knew how to give and
All the foot prints they’ve
Washed as the sands of time
Have ebbed away into their
Experienced grasp

My nose is cold
My legs are cold
My toes are cold
My hands are cold
My back is cold
My mind is cold

The tips of my fingers
Have done away with the
Elasticity of youth and claim
The withering sagacity that
Old age or too many hours
Submerged in deep waters
Seem to give to a body

I can taste the salt
And the cigarettes and
The black coffee somebody
Turned up their nose at
And the idea of me lingering
On warm, pursed lips a little
Too long unprepared for waking
Up alone hours after I left to
Stare out at the ever ellusive
Majesty that will never know my name

And it sits in my head like
A song I have yet to write
Melodies I haven’t played
Dreams I haven’t had because
I’m still not too keen on sleeping
Much less sleeping alone at
A time like this

All the while knowing
That I'm less alone on
My own than I would be
In any bed I could find
Tonight or tomorrow or
Even one I already know

But the grey and the green
And the cold, confused wind
And the salt and the smoke
And the water pulling the soaking
Sand grain by grain off my
Cold feet
And the clouds all over

They don’t make me feel alone

That
Is my favourite
Memory