Tatyana, don’t shy away: sometimes your foot slips
When you try to catch a glimpse of the outside
And peer from the precipice onto the wider world below
If there’s something I’ve missed, then, it’s best that I don’t know
Boats in the harbor, lights on the bridge
Strangers whisper in the timbre of another language
A touch on your shoulder, a chill through your veins
The fever may have broken, but the weakness remains
Tatyana, don’t shy away: sometimes your foot slips
When you try to catch a glimpse of the outside
And peer from the precipice onto the wider world below
If there’s something I’ve missed, then, it’s best that I don’t know
The hands of your children, impossibly small:
You want them desperately, but you don’t want them at all
A wave from the window, a stroll up the path
Faces, distant as the figures in a photograph
The things you had longed for, the way it had been
Before restlessness took hold and settled under your skin
Tatyana, don’t shy away: sometimes your foot slips
When you try to catch a glimpse of the outside
And peer from the precipice onto the wider world below
If there’s something I’ve missed, then, it’s best that I don’t know
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