let it be now,
but it will be in the tomorrow.
i have seen the liar,
he will say he is born into it.
this is what he was birthed to do.
the only one in the village,
who can dance under the full moon.
and when his feet hit the earth,
he destroys the new blooms
on the spring roses.
not the first time only,
but every time,
through all the ever-afters.
the thorns will tear, though,
so in the end of days
it will not matter.
the summer roses will bloom.
i am coming home to the garden.
i cry for the ying and yang,
this water and the waves
have,
since the beginning of
time, been both my voice
and my salvation.
broken people break others.
true.
i know.
she will wear yellow dresses
and wear diamonds in brunette
hair, she will lose all her teeth
before she is twenty.
her phone will ring and ring,
she will never pick up,
not even once,
not even once,
after she has turned sixty.
every night, in my begin-again life,
the sunset stretches across every inch
of the western windows.
while the moon whispers through
the leaded glass in the east.
when people cry, i am their heart;
and i hold them.
the wood floor so hard and real
just below us.
oh,
this gravel lane.
and the places it has taken me.
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