Croatian Dust

So I wake myself up and try a smile on for size.

It shrank in the cold, now it doesn’t quite fit;

And the certainty that you’ll call round in a bit

Is slipping away – guess I’ll let it slide.

And the dust of Croatia’s on my high-heeled boots:

Strong coffee and cheap European hotels,

Your hand on my shoulder, and lessons learned well –

You ain’t ever big enough that it ain’t gonna hurt.

Zagreb mornings – the wide open space

Where hope stretched as far as the distant hills

And you, haloed, leant on the windowsill -

Faded to homecomings, drizzle and rain.

Guess we let it slide, what we had of love:

Sea sand to ashes; Croatian dust.