Even the eagle has to land

Nothing here to fear
I’m just sitting around
being foolish when there
is work to be done.
Just a hang-up call
and the quiet breathing
of our Persian
we call Cajun,
on a Wednesday.

So we go from year to year
with secrets we’ve been
keeping,
though you say you’re
not a Templar man.
Seems as if we’re
circling for very
different reasons.
But one day the Eagle
has to land.

Out past the fountain
a left by the station
I start the day
in the usual way.
Then think
- well why not -
and stop for a coffee
then begin to recall
things that you say.

No one’s at the door.
You suggest a ghost
perhaps a phantom.
I agree with this in part.
Something is with us
I can’t put my finger on
– is Thumbalina size 10
on a Wednesday –.

So we go from year to year
with secrets we’ve been
keeping
though you say you’re
not a Templar man.
You tell me to cheer up.
You suspect we’re
oddly even.
Even still
the Eagle has to land.

Out past the fountain
a left by the station
I start the day
in the usual way.
Then think - well why not -
and stop for a coffee
and begin to recall
things that you say.
Pluck up the courage
and snap it’s gone again
I start humming
‘When Doves Cry’.

Can someone help me
I think that I’m
lost here.
Lost in a place
called America."

Tori Amos, Wednesday.