Bird Street

He’s painting by the moonlight
Silver shadows bloom.
Peering out a window
At the world outside his room.

Midnight she was dreaming
She was falling through the stars,
Sweeping up her secrets
Then she seals them in a jar.

Crossing to the canvas,
Turning on a dime.
Often while he’s painting
Every brushstroke seems to rhyme.

Tales spill on the pages,
Pouring from her pen.
Quiet inspiration
That will visit now and then.

Sunrise in the city,
Eighteen floors above,
Wondering why this yearning
Fits him like a glove.

Sewing in the garden,
Roots are growing ‘round her toes.
Naming all the seedlings,
Giving back more than she owes.

Cross-eyed from creation,
Sharpened like a blade.
Running down the alleys,
Free and unafraid.

* * *

There’s a sunny spot on Bird St.
In a corner tucked away.
They danced there on the sidewalk,
Hidden from the fray.

Lyrics By: Sam Misner
© Poor Player Records/Misner & Smith 2010