who had just come back from the war
And you wrap up his tired face in your hair
and he hands you the apple core
Then he touches your lips, now so suddenly bare
of all the kisses we put on some time before
And he gave you a German shepherd to walk
with a collar of leather and nails
and he never once made you explain or talk
about all of the little details
such as who had a worm and who had a rock
and who had you through the mails
Now your love is a secret all over the block
and it never stops, not even when your master fails
And he took you up in his aeroplane
which he flew without any hands
and you cruised above the ribbons of rain
that drove the crowds from the stands
Then he killed the lights in a lonely lane
where an ape with angel glands
erased the final wisps of pain
with the music of rubber bands
And now I hear your master sing
You kneel for him to come
His body is a golden string
that your body is hanging from
His body is a golden string
my body has grown numb
Now you hear your master sing
your shirt is all undone
And will you kneel beside this bed
that we polished so long ago
before your master chose instead
to make my bed of snow
Your eyes are wild and your knuckles are red
and you’re speaking far too low
No, I can’t make out what your master said
before he made you go
And I think you’re playing far too rough
for a lady who’s been to the moon
I’ve lain by this window long enough
You get used to an empty room
And your love is some dust in an old man’s cuff
who is tapping his foot to a tune
and your thighs are a ruin and you want too much
let’s say you came back too soon
I loved your master perfectly
I taught him all that he knew
He was starving in some deep mystery
like a man who is sure what is true
And I sent you to him with my guarantee
I could teach him something new
and I taught him how you would long for me
no matter what he said, no matter what you do
I believe that you heard your master sing
while I lay sick in bed
I suppose that he told you everything
that I keep locked away in my head
Your master took you travelling
(at least, that’s what you said)
And now do you come back to bring
your prisoner wine and bread?
SISTERS OF MERCY
All the Sisters of Mercy
they are not departed or gone
They were waiting for me
when I thought that I just can’t go on
And they brought me their comfort
and later they brought me this song
Oh I hope you run into them
you who’ve been travelling so long
You who must leave everything
that you cannot control
It begins with your family
but soon it comes round to your soul
I’ve been where you’re hanging
I think I can see where you’re pinned
When you’re not feeling holy
your loneliness tells you you’ve sinned
They lay down beside me
I made my confession to them
They touched both my eyes
and I touched the dew on their hem
If your life is a leaf
that the seasons tear off and condemn
they will bind you with love
that is graceful and green as a stem
When I left they were sleeping
I hope you run into them soon
Don’t turn on the light
You can read their address by the moon
And you won’t make me jealous
if I hear that they sweetened your night
We weren’t lovers like that
and besides it would still be all right
THE STRANGER SONG
It’s true that all the men you knew were dealers who said they were through with dealing every time you gave them shelter. I know that kind of man. It’s hard to hold the hand of anyone who’s reaching for the sky just to surrender.
And sweeping up the jokers that he left behind you’ll find he did not leave you very much not even laughter. Like any dealer he was watching for the card that is so high and wild he’ll never need to deal another. He was just some Joseph looking for a manger.
And then leaning on your window-sill he’ll say one day you caused his will to weaken with your love and warmth and shelter. And taking from his wallet an old schedule of trains, he’ll say, I told you when I came I was a stranger.
But now another stranger seems to want you to ignore his dreams, as though they were the burden of some other. You’ve seen that man before, his golden arm dispatching cards, but now it’s rusted from the elbow to the finger. And he wants to trade the game he plays for shelter. He wants to trade the game he knows for shelter.
You hate to watch another tired man lay down his hand, like he was giving up the Holy Game of Poker. And while he talks his dreams to sleep, you notice there’s a highway that is curling up like smoke above his shoulder.
You tell him to come in, sit down, but something makes you turn around. The door is open. You cannot close your shelter. You try the handle of the road. It opens. Do not be afraid. It’s you, my love, it’s you who are the stranger.
I’ve been waiting. I was sure we’d meet between the trains we’re waiting for, I think it’s time to board another. Please understand I never had a secret chart to get me to the heart of this, or any other matter. Well, he talks like this, you don’t know what he’s after. When he speaks like this, you don’t care what he’s after.
Let’s meet tomorrow if you choose, upon the shore, beneath the bridge, that they are building on some endless river. Then he leaves the platform for the sleeping car that’s warm, you realize, he’s only advertising one more shelter. And it comes to you, he never was a stranger. And you say, “OK, the bridge, or someplace later.”
And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind, you find he did not leave you very much, not even laughter. Like any
