And you were there in the start of it alland you folded your hands like little dovesthat would fly away like an afterthoughtand you turned to me the window light on your faceand you asked me something that I did not recognizelike a great throng of people who are not youand I asked are we in a churchand you answered with the look on your faceof someone grieving something gone for yearsbut that they had been reminded ofby a catch in the light or in someone’s voiceand I think maybe it could have been mineand I looked away thickly my head was in jellyand I didn’t get an answer from you but I got one
-I looked at the man in front of us with glasseshe was speaking and holding a bookand I didn’t understand him he was far awayand I could tell I was missing something importantand you nodded to yourself at something he said
+And you were there at the start of it alland you were there at the end bitter as a nail
+and you folded your hands like little dovesthat flew away like an afterthought
+when you turned to me and the window lighton your face when you told me and I did not
+recognize you in the throng of those whoare not you and I asked are we in a church
+and you answered with the look on your facelike birds caught in a snare like on a voice
+and I think it might have been my voiceand I could not do but look away my head
+was not my head anymore or hold my thoughtsI never did get an answer from you but from
+the man on the radio murmuring all nightand I couldn’t understand him so far away
+and I could tell I was missing something importantand you nodded to yourself at something he said