There is a tranquil eye inside the hurricane â
I think (perhaps Iâm wrong) thatâs something you once said â
somewhere, hidden, on the other side of pain.
Last night, as I was walking to you in the rain,
the western sky above the hills glowed blue and red.
There is a tranquil eye inside the hurricane.
And, as I passed the trellis by your windowpane,
I saw you lying, naked, on your walnut bed,
somewhere, hidden, on the other side of pain.
You werenât alone; another lay where I had lain
beside you on those summer days of words unsaid.
There is a tranquil eye inside the hurricane.
And, in the cold, outside your window, as a train
incised the night, I saw you smile and hold his head â
somewhere, hidden, on the other side of pain.
I donât know why I came to you again,
but I guess a love thatâs slipped away is never really dead.
There is a tranquil eye inside the hurricane ...
somewhere, hidden, on the other side of pain.
For Jan
New Canaan, Connecticut ~ 1975
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