Inside of Outer Space

You wore the clouds under your favorite ball dress,
walked in with the sun on your delicate throat.
You drank up the moon, just forgot all the rest.
Sank into the stars, and drifted down the slope,
you slept.

Hey angel, blue, I wear it well too,
and each day we face a crooked sky.
Call me your net, ‘cause I’d hang tight for you,
when your cracking drums of oil run dry.
These catching arms were yours, are yours forever.

But where have you gone, oh so far and away?
Before you go distressing, just tell me this, how?
How can you be saved before the castle is found,
is it planted just beyond the far reach of day,
asleep just before the hunting eyes of the hound?
Well I’ll be there soon, anyway.

I grow weary of dreams, that grow themselves wings,
Stray away from their sea legs, and jump from their swings.
They haven’t shouted a word since goodbye,
and I so often wonder just why, why, why, why.

So, you’re my fracture crawling back up the edge of the atmosphere,
singing and dropping and stopping and watching,
that slow smile travel on down from the sky.
I need you to fill these lonely lines in,
using only one color if you haven’t the time;
I want those busy eyes to just comply.
Give me one of those looks, if just to tell me you’re listening.
Remind me of why I’d never floated this high, high, high.

You said you’d tie me tight to the wings of your plane,
said I could throw down those stones over Spain.
You said we’d paint over a sorry winter with spring,
then I guess you said a lot of things.
Promises we made drew too close to the sun,
Until they took those helping hands of wax,
and likely were undone.

Well then, lets make some plans to meet between,
these fields of blue, and where you stole the scene.
You flew so sweet, so sharp, so swift,
you simply sliced the sky.
In grinning twins sequined with clouds awry.
Who acted out their opinion’s truth,
oh, shape the show to shape the youth.
What’s right is what you think you see.
Until you crossed that boundary,
now those kids await your wake in the clouds,
and all those the clues you leave behind.
Adventure craves what it cannot find.

But still I’m here and I’m waiting,
though the years have seen me through and blue.
And I’ve come to this point where I’m searching the words,
and the one who sings true from a difficult heart,
his friends all call him Love.
The first true beauty to cross me, like I’d never seen,
cast a spell from the book, most men would kill just to read.
And it was all I could do, just to sit there and sigh,
fly my paper planes about the breeze, and widen these blue eyes.
I search the daily sky to tell,
what I’ve been waiting to have you hear.
I’m here. So tell me, where are you?
I’ve lost the months since our last farewell.

I remember that morning, my little song bird landed down,
held my obedience in her lap, and then sewed up my mouth.
Said, “listen close, I’ve got something you don’t wanna hear
that wind-swept butterfly you keep has found herself ensnared,
among a spider web of mountaintops,
or running ‘cause she don’t know how to stop.”

And then in your fashion, that bird just flew away.
So what’s left but to wait up, until it’s far too late?
‘Til your name has laid down on that ever long page.

Maybe, sing me a story, while your swinging the hand,
of the kind inside of outer space,
I sure hope it’s treating you better than,
a gravity that only served to hold you in place.

But is it as plain and stale for you,
as a face that’s just unchanging and blue?
Without your hope dragging smoke through the stars,
following you up and over the moon.

Pull our pieces back into the shade,
and polish them up for heaven’s sake.
My girl is gone, but where has she gone?
I know she hasn’t found the shore.
Is it wrong to miss a person, when you’ll find no more
in that color, that style, that beauty, that name?
if they made you feel warmer than soft summer rain,
and brighter than the rainbow still circling the drain.

I dressed up my heart, in a sparkling jewel box,
hid it away in the brave, wayward wind.
With trust you would find it, and outsmart the locks.
Not counting the days ‘til I’d find it floating,
with a note promising to help sew it back in.
sincerely mine, even if you only mean it in writing.

You were the first to send that passing glance,
and the last I’d give a fleeting chance.
Why should I settle for the last one on leave,
when I could be washed in the beauty of Eve?

I just hope that the shine, of a heart in repair,
is enough to grasp your gaze up there.