And you were there at the start of it alland you were there at the end bitter as a nail

and you folded your hands like little dovesthat flew away like an afterthought

when you turned to me and the window lighton your face when you told me and I did not

recognize you in the throng of those whoare not you and I asked are we in a church

and you answered with the look on your facelike birds caught in a snare like on a voice

and I think it might have been my voiceand I could not do but look away my head

was not my head anymore or hold my thoughtsI never did get an answer from you but from

the man on the radio murmuring all nightand I couldn’t understand him so far away

and I could tell I was missing something importantand you nodded to yourself at something he said