Your hands of many prayers past,
Fall with a heaviness in my chest…
It is what keeps me when to fall
Seems most human of it all.

When you visit this laden sill
Carved within me, and without me still,
To curl the curtains upon your finger
And there be a willful singer…

I hope to tell you “I needn’t know
From where you came or even how.”
For lighter is that threshold when
That is the chance you are given.

It is enough that you may
Have your good and have your say
To the man that cant demand it
And whose to say… understand it.

7 thoughts on “(Untitled)

  1. A really specific image again. Or two.

    This one tree that I made friends with at school, at night and lit really warmly from below, and an open window in a bare white wall with a dark but starry sky visible through it.

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