Personal Eclipse

I remember the dry grass of Nebraska, gray to distant blue
I stopped on hills like slumping shoulders, car cooling, I took off my shoes
I drove out west with my sister, she talks more than I do
When she fell silent, still I'd miss her
The sound of the wind coming through

I remember the smoky cups of coffee at The Continental Divide
Mesas rose up there beside me, I felt like I'd arrived
I walked on the streets of California to the wail of car alarms
Men would shout out to me passing, a stranger with crossed arms

I remember the subtlety of canyons, black by the roadside
A cut in the rocks as I was passing, just a glimpse as you go by
If there's something you always are choosing, you may not recognize
If there's something you always are loosing, something disguised

Lately I found myself lonely, I wouldn't have called it that before
I always took it as a comfort, what all the distance was for
If you can't leave clean as a statement, so true that you almost wince
If you can't leave, you get yourself taken, like a personal eclipse