Picture perfect
I think I saw you once
In another kid’s Easter basket.
Maybe it wasn’t you or wait
Maybe it wasn’t an Easter basket.
Maybe it was just this side of a garage door
Or looking up from beneath steps in the London subways.
Maybe it wasn’t your face I saw
But the flares of curves from beneath your dress.
No, it wasn’t curves
It was essences.
Or maybe you didn’t have a dress. Pants maybe.
And I think it was your hair I saw,
But not in the subways. I think it was in front
Of a dinner plate. If that’s true,
It must have been your face. Maybe it was
From behind a percussion set-up
Or a plate glass door, but if that’s true,
I should have seen everything.
No, I think I did see you
In another kid’s Easter basket‚
But it wasn’t Easter. That was what was so strange.
That must be why I remember.