The girl who cries wolf

SUNDAYS WITH MICHAEL

I hold my breath and count to ten
I stand and sit, then stand again
I cross and then uncross my legs
The planes are flying overhead 

The dial turns with every twist 
Around the watch, around his wrist
Resting there with pen in hand
Who could ever understand?

The way he writes of all I dream
Things kind yet cruel and in between
Where underneath those twisted trees
A pretty girl fallen to her knees

Who could know the world we’ve spun?
I shrug my shoulders and hold my tongue 
I catch my breath and count to ten 
I stand and sit, then stand again