Oh, Modjeska, though we may never meet
I’ve spent my life curled up at your feet
Your mother and I shared a place, but not a time
And I’m only in town for a while

Season of scales in the year of death
What can you say that I haven’t heard yet?
When I am driving and alone with you
Oh, I am clueless in a world of clues

Oh, mother, mother, in the café window
Counting backwards with her eyes closed
Tilting toward the myth that she knew best:
“A perfect land where she took hеr rest”

Longed for a life with a horsе and a gun
New dust in her mouth, South of a new sun
Now she watches her own shadow swell
Pacing the boards while the farm goes to hell

So, Modjeska, though I will never know you
Go tell your mother I must be leaving soon
Lay down the heavy gown of the foolish prince’s wife
Live in that shadow for the rest of your life

Loved the city the most when I wasn’t up close, or when falling asleep
And I love you the best when I’m not dispossessed, but it’s not up to me
This refrain was akin to the one that crept in
To the letter I wanted to write —
So I thought about writing all night
And I freeze how I feel until things can be real and not distant
But the strain of the transit defies understanding, now, doesn’t it?
Out of the shapes that I know God can take
Well, my favorite’s the space in between us —
But that’s all I want to discuss

And there is no veil and no railing between us and elsewhere
I can’t see you today, but some nearby someday, you will be here
And the time that we spend between our nows and thens
Will look small as the wink of an eye —
As Modjeska has since testified

I love you, I love you, goodnight