Brianna Lane

by Brianna Lane (First draft 9/4/05)

In a lighthouse
In a dark room
Up the winding stairs
Lies a tea cup
And a stir spoon
And a wooden chair

She is sipping on chamomile while writing you a letter
She knows that one more pretty word won’t make it any better

This isn’t the first dear you
This isn’t the last envelope sealed

The quill to the parchment
The ink to the thumb
The light to the captain
The sea to the sun

This isn’t the first dear you
This isn’t the last envelope sealed
This isn’t the first dear you
This isn’t the last envelope sealed

She is breathing underwater under wind and the waves
Swimming downward past shipwrecked remains

While you are getting used to this
This distance
You are getting used to this
Skipping of stones oh oh
This being alone
Being alone

She is writing you of mermaids of the color of the sky
While you love being land locked you’ve said you’re goodbyes

This isn’t the first dear you
This isn’t the last envelope sealed

You are getting used to this
This distance
You are getting used to this
Skipping of stones alone
Searching for omens
Talking to your daemons
Looking for your reason
Being alone…..

This isn’t the first dear you
This isn’t the last envelope
This isn’t the first dear you
This isn’t the last envelope
This isn’t the first dear you
This isn’t the last…