I found an old rock in the dry dirt outside The door of my motel room It was a triangle with soft, rounded edges and a split down the middle of one corner It was darker than English moss, green like the soft frills of a peaco*k's plume I waited for you but I never told you where I was It was who taught me how to write these kinds of equations I waited on the steps for you and I hid in the bushes whenever a car pull into the parking lot You taught me how to listen to these distant stations Distant stations I saw the sky break I threw a rock at a crow who was playing in the mulch of some rosebushes by the motel office Missed him by a good yard or two I sang old songs from nowhere Los Angeles, Albuquerque I said a small prayer for the poor and the naked and the hungry And I prayed real hard for you I waited for you but I never told you where I was It was who taught me how to write these kinds of equations I waited on the steps for you and I hid in the bushes whenever a car pull into the parking lot You taught me how to listen to these distant stations Distant stations