How long have you been sleeping now,
Wedged between two others
with your pillow made of stone?
My watch has stopped, frozen,
Still, a statue upon the peaceful hill
where we are alone,
Aside from the silent widow
armed with flowers,
Drained of hope,
A necklace hanging down her breast,
A saint swinging from a rope.
How long have I been sitting here,
Not daring to come closer
than the safety of my seat?
Perhaps I should run to you,
Kneel under these skies of blue
and whisper prayers at your feet,
Pretend that I can find my way
through the graveyard streets,
And wonder if my practiced words
could sing to you like whistling birds
and draw you from your dreams.