The book of dreams laid on the bed
In front of the sea-view window
The bed had a plain, pale blue cover
The outlook was of a calm, pale blue sea
It could have been by Edward Hopper
But it was by Jim Holland
It could have been by Vilhelm Hammershoi
But it was by Jim Holland
I might have seen it on another day
But I saw it on a Sunday morning
I might have laid there some other time
But I lay there, on a Sunday morning
Afterwards, I took a flight back to England
I left Rod McKuen’s poems behind with you
Alone; they were of love, lost love, and loss
But belonged to an altogether future time
