| that come with her name, through the drawings
|
| the sentences have made. |
| I know her twenty years
|
| will last a lot longer.
|
| Maybe she’ll catch me if I let her. |
| An end to this
|
| fall.
|
| I know her now. |
| I know she will last the concrete
|
| and glass, the ceiling that held her that high, the
|
| road and the bridge that took here there. |
| I didn’t
|
| catch her fall and I didn’t leave us as leaving
|
| should be. |
| Watching concrete floors through glass
|
| ceilings can take the better of the days that we are
|
| leaving.
|
| Maybe she’ll catch me if I let her. |
| An end to this
|
| fall. |
| Maybe she’ll catch me if I let her. |
| Awaken
|
| the scientists, the soldiers we were.
|
| All the calls, the dances and songs, the moments
|
| that were. |
| They will never leave. |
| All her words,
|
| her ideas and her thoughts will all stay as such
|
| things must.
|
| You can’t go back and take a different turn.
|
| But I know she’ll last the concrete and glass.
|
| You can’t go back and take a different turn.
|
| But I know she’ll last the concrete and glass. |