I lived my life in the long cool mornings of fall, and you,
You lived yours in warm and vibrant summer nights
Your air was laden with exotic spices from-
And mine with the cool fresh smell of mint.
You are a wharf rat, and I-
I am the child of farmers.
You lived from harbor to harbor- dock to dock
Working your way around the wild east
I live in the valley, the one you see
From mountains, hidden in fog
I drank the tart cider squeezed from autumn apples and the
Clear water that ran from mountain snowmelt.
You drank wine- spiced wine, warm wine-
Heady wine that coaxed the tendrils
Of your tangled mind
When I lie awake at night, I hear the contemplative call
Of owls, the wild chorus of coyotes
Or perhaps the lonesome
Cry of a fox.
And you, you hear the creak of wood, flap of canvas sail,
Lapping of water, gently hungering for you
Safe in your hammock.
I awake at cock crow, to the coo of mourning dove, and the
Genial shouts of farmhands, the cattle low for their
Breakfast and milking
And you, wherever you are, wake to the strange
Lamentations of a holy man in a tower
Singing in the morning prayer.
In a tavern attic, out of work, you don’t fall back asleep
Or begin your day, just lie-
Lie and listen-
Every sense straining,