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It's a still life watercolor Of a now-late afternoon As the sun shines through the curtained lace And shadows wash the room And we sit and drink our coffee Couched in our indifference, like shells upon the shore You can hear the ocean roar In the dangling conversation And the superficial sighs The borders of our lives And you read your Emily Dickinson And I my Robert Frost And we note our place with book markers That measure what we've lost Like a poem poorly written We are verses out of rhythm Couplets out of rhyme In syncopated time And the dangled conversation And the superficial sighs Are the borders of our lives Yes, we speak of things that matter With words that must be said "Can analysis be worthwhile?" "Is the theater really dead?" And how the room is softly faded And I only kiss your shadow, I cannot feel your hand You're a stranger now unto me Lost in the dangling conversation And the superficial sighs In the borders of our lives Paul Simon The Dangling Conversation