The dream was never clear as to
whether it was you or I, or both of us
riding the horse through the woods
to the silent house. But I know it was you
who spurred us over barbed wire,
even though I felt the butterflies,
knowing we were certain to fall.
But still how I cried over the horse
dying in the sudden street when its eye
went from the stars to me.
Dreams are like that. Then we were
riding the number 9, upstairs, talking.
I’ve been away, you said,
but you’ll see more of me now.
I can still be in the band.
I told you we had a new drummer.
You said, I’ll play another instrument.