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Holiday Song

This is a language I no longer speak—
   this easy exchange of phrases
   from these bland, accessible, eager and amiable faces
   drinks in their hands and
   each one of them wishing me well
So I left myself for a time
   to see if I couldn’t find
   the wellspring
I don’t wish to know them
At first she was my lover—
   then she became my muse...
I’ll find other lovers
I don’t know what I wish
I always find sadness
   whenever I see her
This is what I wish
I did nothing wrong
   but it all came out wrong
I did everything wrong
I used to love her
This music, my love, was written
   over two hundred years ago
It was written in a different place
But it feels like it was written here
   and it could have been written today

-November 18, 2007-