(Greg Brown, "Nude on Sand - Oceano, 1936)
CONEVILLE SLOUGH
"We came out of the country and drove into he
cityscape -
Like every other in America, it's a black and
white town.
You were sitting beside me, neither of us in
good shape,
leaning on one another and coming back down.
We had walked miles along Cape Cod, I was right
behind you
watching your hips move, and the cloud sky -
the ocean was cold, by God, you were stiff and
your lips were blue.
It ain't hard to find the groove when you don't
have to try.
Truck parked by the yellow dog, I had gone
way upstream,
you sat in your lawn chair, so sad and alone,
and I recall how your eyes would fog when you
went deep into your dream.
You and the sky were both bare, down to the bone.
I'm a shy exhibitionist standing by a window,
thinking about a woman from Boston town,
how she danced in a slow twist, how wide her
arms would go,
when the city night was coming in, and the sun
going down.
You can walk down the avenue with your coat all
around you
and all the phantoms glowing just as bright as
can be,
yeah, but what really gets through to you, where is
the one who found you
when everything was showing on the day you
felt free.
I was just wondering where the wild swans gather
and if you ever stand in their glory like we did
that day
when the sky was thundering and we were all the
way together
in the middle of a big story that doesn't fade away."
GREG BROWN
GREG BROWN - The Evening Call. Red House Records, 2006