Personal Eclipse

I remember the dry grass of Nebraska, grey to distant blue
I stopped on hills like slumping shoulders; car cooling, I took off my shoes
I drove out west with my sister – she talks more than I do
When she fell silent, still I’d miss her
The sound of the wind coming through
I remember the smoky cups of coffee at the continental divide
Mesas rose up there beside me. I felt like I’d arrived
I walked on the streets of California in the wail of car alarms
Men would shout out to me passing, a stranger with crossed arms
I remember the subtlety of canyons, black by the roadside
A cut in the rocks as I was passing, just a glimpse as you go by
If there’s something you always are choosing – you may not recognise
If there’s something you always are loosing – something disguised
Lately I find myself lonely – I wouldn’t have called it that before
I always took it as a comfort – what all the distance was for
If you can’t leave clean as a statement – so true that you almost wince
If you can’t leave, you get yourself taken – like a personal eclipse