Sunday:
|
Dark water draining north, the heat
|
Swells and bursts like plague.
|
|
Sunday:
|
Ever-so-faint slow tambourine
|
Glides onward toward the grave.
|
|
Who drew the line?
|
Who drew the line between you and me?
|
Who drew the line
|
that everyone sees?
|
|
Darling,
|
Lake Pontchartrain is haunted:
|
Bones without names, photographs framed in reeds.
|
|
Darling,
|
What blood our veins are holding.
|
The overpass frozen, fires ablaze at sea.
|
|
Who drew the line?
|
Who drew the line that cuts to the skin, buries me in?
|
Tell me who drew the line.
|
Darling, don't close your eyes.
|
|
(Lie as darkness hardens.
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Lie of our reunion.
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Oh lie if God is sleeping.
|
Oh I believe you now.)
|
|
Darling,
|
Lake Pontchartrain will cradle me,
|
and all you left behind.
|
|
Listen:
|
Ever-so-faint slow tambourine
|
is marching back through time.
|
|
-----------------
|
Pontchartrain
|
| Vienna Teng |
