Mount Eerie - Tintin in Tibet

I sing to you

I sing to you, Geneviève

I sing to you

You don't exist

I sing to you, though

When I address you, who am I talking to?

Standing in the front yard like an open wound

Repeating I love you, to who?

I recorded all these songs about the weird echoes in our house now, then I walked out the door to play them on a stage

But I sing to you

I picture you

When we first met you were 22, and I drove my truck on to the ferry to Victoria in the morning where we met and talked forever in your apartment with evening falling, so I brought my blankets in and slept on the floor right next to your bed

In the morning barely awake, I saw you standing right above me; peeling and orange and looking hungry

"Do you want some?" you asked me, and then just avalanched into me with pieces of orange and (wait?) and kissing and certainty

I remember you a few days later in Tofino, where we'd driven to play a show you'd set up for us at a surf shop to no one, then we slept in the back of my truck and got woken up by the cops, then went down to the fishing boat dock to ask whoever for a ride across the water to Meares Island to just get left there for the day, and we did that and brought some food to eat and went through the big trees abandoned and in love, totally insane, apart from the rest of the world

We had finally found each other in the universe

Lying on the rocks, waiting for the boat to come pick us up, I read the one book we had with us aloud, with my head on your lap, sinking to you

Tintin in Tibet in French

And we thought of devotion, and snow, and distant longing, and the Himalayan air high and told with a bell ringing out

Then right before you died 13 years later in our house I remember through your gasping for oxygen, you explained that you'd been thinking about that high, cold air wrapping the globe, singing above the mountains of the Gods

And yes I do picture you there

Molecules dancing

But still I'd rather you were in the house watching the unfolding everyday life of this good daughter we made, instead of being scattered by the wind for no reason

So I sing to you
  • Current Mood: contemplative contemplative