Swords of Gold

Swords of gold cut the afternoon
There's a lone cry occasionally
The Sun was shining along the steep edge of my bed
The covers are all undone but nobody lies in them
Waiting to be warmed, waiting to be warmed
And the floor is covered with sprawling suitcases and sealed cardboard boxes
The floor is freshly waxed
But the cases and the boxes are not yet unpacked
And I can no longer tell whether I am about to stay or to depart again
Depart again
Depart again