| And anything against the right kind of light looks blessed
|
| But all the early evening shadows couldn’t disguise this unrest
|
| And the nights in depth are infinite as always
|
| But the days in length are only ever days
|
| So we take to the waves
|
| And we swallow the salt
|
| And our bodies do swell
|
| But our shadows stay sharp
|
| Still the silence is soft
|
| When the sentences stop
|
| And you were aglow, and I was alone and so overwhelmed
|
| And were we really leaving shadows hidden behind our past selves
|
| You were so unwell, with arms outstretched the whole way
|
| But the long limbs fell, in falling found their place
|
| And then at the end of the eleventh day
|
| Elevated only by the grace of an airplane
|
| I became aware of a change
|
| And I slept through the night, first
|
| Lighter than a leaf upon a pool of water
|
| Where I sunk like a boulder
|
| Blurry was the line between the deep and deeper
|
| Then I landed on my cold floor
|
| Heavy in the hallway of a house familiar
|
| So I bolted out the back door
|
| Kicked the silver key beneath a mound of black dirt
|
| Then you took me on a long drive
|
| Eyes were all alight and on the road so injured
|
| And you parked us on an incline
|
| Climbing out the window with the words I’d whispered
|
| Holier eyes couldn’t hold you away from the light
|
| Holier arms couldn’t hold all the darkness you hide |