Sightings

I'm looking at the fog, can't see the hills
I'm thinking about a revolution
I'm thinking I should announce my retirement
I'm sitting on my couch, can't feel my feet
I'm remembering the drives along the west side of Bush Lake
And then it spits you out
By the highway, near the glassy buildings
People I didn't know worked in
People I didn't know slept in

I'm waiting for an answer
I'm confiding in you, can you feel it?
I miss the mollusk, I miss the ocean
I miss the lake, I miss the muddy feet
But I can't just do what they say
I can't just covet the end of the day

She saw me on 3rd Street
I saw her on Chapman
She saw me on Pico
I saw her on Colorado
She saw me on Larchmont
I saw her right back
She looked away on Normandale
I looked right through her on Burnt House Hill
She saw me on 3rd Street
I punched the little spaces on my iPhone
And considered a move, eastward in the dark
I waved
She drove ahead
And in the fog I will know you by the trail of what I've never said

December 2, 2008