tucking in the folds
making space to breathe
holding back replies
every simple move
seemingly at ease
rehearsed neurotically
every common choice
ordinary thought
questioned a thousand times
a shade of pain
a simple glance
caught in unending time
wading through black water
with words caught on my lips
all the thoughts I took to writing out
that couldn’t raise the dead
while we’re balancing on rafters
on frames above the depths
all the minor characters from our past
are taking center stage in the final act
with knives in hand
the sickle swings
the pendulum of your deciet
i'm breathing
through soaking sheets
this filtered air is my defeat
the song is swelling in the Thrush's breast
the sound of your confession
never to be heard again
keep longing
nothing's coming
all their paper masks
and unfeeling hands
passing collecting plates
reaching towards the Lamb
rewriting ledger books
under the bed
letting these filial debts
haunt my father’s death
keep longing
nothing’s coming
i’ll disappear into the redwoods
with canvas and coal
i’ve held out in the wilds
one hundred years alone
caught up in a country
a current, an undertow
in memories, in moments past
with breaking limbs we row
