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What Remains
by Dave Matthews


I stepped outside into the rain

With thought to chance upon

One of those dreamy little poems

Where rooftops dance

And Harpo Marx

And peacocks in the snow

The kind I used to write

The ones I used to know

The ones that came to me once

In a clarity of paint and hieroglyphs

A cello beside a fountain

A red bridge floating over the blue river

The bank where we lazed

And read Keats in the clouds

While the dragon boats swept past

Those poems

When we flourished

The air bright and sensual as the grass

Green and soft beneath your thigh

Your lips on my eyelids like the sun

The city a neon smear in the dusk

Your hair fragrant with delight


A poem risen from the waste of time

A brightness of the air undimmed,

The days faded in a fog of fret and rage

All eaten up by fate

And melancholy solitude,

What remains


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