The March rain falls on my cottage cold tonight,
Falls on the roof and drips from the eaves
Like the sad tears of sad gods.
You are this evening up in Manitou among mountains
In the apartment you love, the apartment whose walls
Are not trued to a square.
I want to speak honest my love for you
But I hear her scornful voice in my head,
“That’s stupid, Paul, that’s TMI.”
You don’t know her, not even her name.
She was gone before you came.
But we still fight, she and I, we still fight.
She condemns my every feeling, my every truth.
I have to watch I don’t think she is you.
She’s the smoke that hides from me your fire.
She’s the distance between our hearts and minds.
She’s the ghost that haunts our love.
And she was even gone before you came.