The Air

on Postcard #7 - Slab City - Songs from the Dust



Count to three and open your eyes.
know that each single one of those lashes
is heavier than my heart: the lightest
breeze lifts it up high, the softest wind
sends it far away. how or where from I
came I seem to forget. how can anyone
fail to remember what place they belong,
what place they`re at?

I hear the the wind in the trees, it`s
longingly calling for me. I`m the fine,
grainy sand, I take to the breeze, I`ll keep
it company.

in the morning rinse off the dust off your
plates. yet a few grains of sand in your
coffee will keep you reminded of your
fate. being this fragmented and spread,
this weightlessly small, my pieces lie
there in your hand. then scattered and
tossed by the storm, I follow its call,
not questioning where I will land. the
strongest gust rips me apart. yet a few
grains of me in your coffee will keep you
reminded of my heart.

the lightest breeze lifts me up high.
the softest wind sends me far away.