All Things Profane and Sacred

Alphabet, by Jeff Lewis

Late at night cloudy light will creep over my old house
and the chair where I once sat
someone new is there and he'll stare at that wall.
We're all parts of an alphabet.
We spell new words in new spots we're at.
And the big round blue boat drifts around in the dark . . .
and they say that we'll drift for a while
'til we die in the sun
it's a spiral
it's a combination lock.
I'm just hoping that I'll get it open
and these joys and frustrations
are just turns in the combination.