Outside on the street submerged in orange light,

I’m perched watching cars tunnel through the night.

I flashback to Dallas to hear your soft tone,

I hear the train sound, and then I’m alone.

I go home to call, but you are not there.

I think of you out in the city air,

With all our old friends, or out skipping stones.

And then the train sounds, and then I’m alone.

The radio crackles; the signal fades,

So I take a walk through the evening shades.

The lake is placid and serine all through.

I stare for a while, then I skip rocks too.

The moon, like my heart, is lavender blue,

I skip one rock more rock, pretending it’s you

My soul makes a ripple, like the last rock thrown,

And then the train sounds to say I’m alone.

-Matthew Harrison