The Question

In my dream you were beautiful, backlit, noble

In the lowlight of the window, you were leaning on the edge

The high rises and billboards, for perfume and call girls

The steam above the dark road, the smoke around your head

I knew you by description, the tall tales, the pictures

Your short hair and your lipstick, the smell of coming rain

I wanted to remain there, a voyeur, a stranger

Below you in the night air, just waiting to be changed

Eyeliner and nylons, the calm upon your face drawn

Revealing next to nothing, a deal you don’t believe

The bible in a locked drawer, the past you gave it up for

The hymnal and the comfort in exchange for living free

And lined up with the laundry, your slacks and all those stockings

Suit jacket and the soft things you dance in when you dream

The neighbors never mention, the woman they see leaving

Is the man who works the morning shift selling gasoline

In my dream you were stone still, shadowed, half built

A masterpiece of pure will, just waiting on the world

To gaze upon your body, a razor on a rough cheek

A blaze of burning beauty, the saved and the worth saving

A hallelujah waiting to raise the heavy curtains

A play with no good ending, a prayer that never mentioned

The glory of the question and the answer is the same