Paula

Nothing else in this song — only your face. Nothing else here — only your drinking, night-gray eyes. The pier runs into the lake straight as a rifle barrel. I stand on the pier and sing how I know you mornings. It is not your eyes, your face, I remember. It is not your dancing, race-horse feet. It is something else I remember you for on the pier mornings. Your hands are sweeter than nut-brown bread when you touch me. Your shoulder brushes my arm — a south-west wind crosses the pier. I forget your hands and your shoulder and I say again : Nothing else in this song — only your face. Nothing else here — only your drinking, night-gray eyes.