Before you were you, she knew you
You were the guy in the surfer shirt
The guy with the East Coast accent
The bellhop at the Belmont on the Cape
You were the one who gave up his seat on that packed Greyhound bound for the stick
The one who nonchalantly caught Willie May’s homerun fly and handed it to her

Before she knew you, she heard you in three-part harmony
You called her on the wind, warped record lyrics from played away grooves
You were the one who took her to a singing metal scuplture
The one who knew how to burn ice and melt fire

Before she heard you, she felt you
You were the familiar energy that snuck up from behind, two kids playing yin and yang taking up where they left off
You were the one who remembered, fire likes wind, the one who got too close to the flame

Before she felt you, she saw you on a train from D.C. to Mass.
The lulling motion of the train still tracks beneath her feet
You came in her dream, upstairs in a big colonial house on the Cape,
When she finally saw you, she knew, she knew you . . .