Dusty hills heave weeds onto their humped backs.
Ever digging, digging slowly toward eachother that they might overtake a valley verdant with joy.
Roof rocks roll slowly, molasses churning downhill.
The sky is duller here, the light refracted less, I guess.
Cracking mud and blowing silt whisper their fortunes in my ear.
I'm homesick for anywhere but here.
We'll raise it up, we'll light a fire, til there's nothing left to burn.
We'll call it down, draw you in, show it all to you.
And then sweep it aside, give it back and breathe again.
Then, we'll breathe again.
No comments:
Post a Comment