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Music Girl - For Carol - 18/01/01

Manhattan was maddening that year,
the dark skies of winter closed.
Alone and Gotham cold.

Like sand, time slipped through my fingers
like sandcastles, my dreams crumbled,
in the tide of time, dissolved away.

We passed each other, orbited slightly,
got to know each other,
slightly.

the progression of our friendship slow,
simple enough to follow.

begun with an accent,
begun with a carnival of animals,
a carnal Italian,
the soon to be departed German.
the butterfly,
and for you and I, no second Troy.

"from Dublin are you ?" and the ease of the old insults,
our home town kind of greeting,
"ya eejit ya", "write about that would ya".

you were an Irish girl in New York,
A girl with an 87 year old grandmother
an any girl,

But Messian, Quartet for the End of Time,
and at the end, the old image died away.

It started with an inflection in your body
green eyes closed,
a note is squeezed from your stomach
pushed up and all the way out

your weight now, on your toes,
a new inflection
your feet reflecting 
the pitter, patter, and stocatto
of all those notes you held in you.

You let them out, 
raced them round, 
throw them to the audience. 

but you were oblivious
ran away from us, 
living in the music.


written by me for my friend

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