A home I never had
Serendipity came my way, on a blowy Lancaster day
Blown in all the way from Cal-i-forni-i-a, an idea of a girl
That I kept in my head, long after she was dead
Except in great extremity when I'd gamble all that I had
On her not being sad. But, maybe, I was wrong and Jenny
Had sung a bitter-bitter-song. A song of her declining days
Drifting into a frustration-opoid-filled Palo Alto haze of days.
I hope she'd had the strength to leap over all the barriers
On the way to a few love-soaked days spread over years
And years. Interspersed, as is usual, with tears and fears
That congregated at funeral-hospital-family-closeted visits,
I hope that she found some people who she really loved.
Time is the currency of our lives, and if we hope to survive,
We need to see our reflection in the eyes of those we love.