My first wife’s house was very small. She wouldn’t let me sleep
In her bed, said I could sleep in her bathtub.
In the night I woke up, thought I was in a coffin, got up,
opened the bathroom window and saw the moon washed sea.
I have seen the same sea from many portholes always enchanting,
And my cabin was a pool of stillness.
Walked out of sleeping house, by the steps, my old dog,
I patted its head it wagged tail, but refused to come with me.
Under a lamppost, in a circle of light, I stood waiting for a bus
I knew would never come.
