I hold his weight on my old pine frame
He calls the wind by a different name
His navy coat is a heavy grey
He watches clouds drift far away
He smells of brine and a cheap cigar
He stares at light from a distant star
He keeps his boots by the motel door
He doesn't walk on the carpet floor
Salt in the sand of a desert town
Wait for the anchor to settle down
Far from the tide and the rolling blue
Looking for something he once knew
He rubs a coin with a weathered thumb
Waiting for morning and coffee come
He hums a tune from a sunken ship
A steady beat and a salty lip
Salt in the sand of a desert town
Wait for the anchor to settle down
Far from the tide and the rolling blue
Looking for something he once knew
The red rock glows in a heat haze blur
The memories move like a feline purr
He is a ghost in a cotton shirt
Planting his longing in New Mexico dirt
He drinks his water from a plastic cup
He waits for the midnight moon to come up
He tells the air about a northern gale
The snap of canvas and a white linen sail
My wooden slats feel his heavy lean
The longest wait that I've ever seen
He is a sailor on a dry land street
The heat of the pavement under his feet
Salt in the sand of a desert town
Wait for the anchor to settle down
Far from the tide and the rolling blue
Looking for something he once knew
Just a wooden chair.
Holding the salt.
Holding the sand.
