DANGLING CONVERSATION
Simon & Garfunkel 


It's a still life water color; 
of a now late afternoon. 
As the sun shines through the curtained lace; 
and shadows wash the room. 
And we sit and drink our coffee; 
couched in our indifference, 
like shells upon the shore; 
you can hear the ocean roar, 
in the dangling conversation 
and the superficial sighs, 
the borders of our lives. 

And you read your Emily Dickinson; 
and I my Robert Frost. 
And we note our place with bookmarkers; 
That measure what we've lost. 
Like a poem poorly written; 
we are verses out of rhythm, 
couplets out of rhyme, 
in syncopated time. 
and the dangled conversation; 
and the superficial sighs; 
are the borders of our lives. 

Yes we speak of things that matter; 
with words that must be said, 
"Can analysis be worthwhile?" 
"Is the theater really dead?" 
And how the room is softly faded; 
and I only kiss your shadow; 
I cannot feel your hand. 
You're a stranger now unto me; 
lost in the dangling conversation. 
and the superficial sighs, 
an the borders of our lives.