It’s a still life water colour/f a now late afternoon/s the sun shines through the curtained lace/And shadows wash the room/And we sit and drink our coffee/Couched in our indifference/Like shells upon the shore/You can hear the ocean roar/In the dangling conversation/And the superficial sighs/Are the borders of our lives/And you read your Emily Dickinson/And I my Robert Frost/And we note our place with bookmarkers/That/measure what we’ve lost/Like a poem poorly written/We are verses out of rhythm/Couplets out of rhyme/In syncopated time/Lost in the dangling conversation/And the superficial sighs/Are the borders of our lives/Yes, we speak of things that matter/With words that must be said/Can analysis be worthwhile/Is the theatre really dead/And how the room is softly faded/And I only kiss your shadow/I cannot feel your hand/You’re a stranger now unto me/Lost in the dangling conversation/And the superficial sighs/In the borders of our lives.

Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel