| On Tuesday the doorway is opening and closing |
| Her body lives wild as my body’s dozing |
| Alone in a tent on a cheap plastic chair |
| Dream of angels, of angles of hair |
| On Wednesday the doorway on distant horizon |
| I wake in the motel room as the sun’s rising |
| Her eyes are retreating, her hands are retreating |
| If I were a thinker as well as a singer |
| I’d sing you to laugher and laugh you a thought |
| To think me a lover I ought to be bolder |
| I ought to be brighter I ought to be braver |
| I ought to take care of my heart for it can’t help it self |
| The doorman looks at me like I don’t belong here |
| He’s figured out quickly what took me so long |
| Took so many long years to become and accept: |
| I’m not but a shadow of a dream I once had |
| I once fell in love with the beauty of living |
| Which that night had taken the form of a woman |
| She transformed my being by simply existing |
| And artfully taught me a love for the meaning |
| Of living and loving and loving the living |
| And left me a loner to lonely search |
| For my own way of giving that gift to the world |
| All in a quick glance from a strange hearted girl |
| Of the north beach |
| A decade goes by without any changing |
| I enter her living room and fail to notice |
| The paintings on the wall |
| The wall of the hallway |
| There’s not to notice but the one who is sitting |
| Inside army coat worn over rainbow sweater |
| Whose jeans are cut shear as to fray around the ankle |
| Whose ankles are perfect who’s fingers are perfect |
| Whose eyes are delightful as to chortle the angels |
| Some like the gambling and some like the scheming |
| Some like to spend their days dreaming up ways |
| To kill off the dreams of the dreaming young men |
| Who’s city apartments so threaten the dreams |
| Of the ones who like gambling and the ones who |
| Like scheming |
| I love her endlessly, gambling and scheming |
| I’ll dream up a key |
| To open all doors |
| And once more transported, finish my days on the bay |