those places left a mark on us, for sure.
which trains carried you how far? and what names
gave you which scars. did fingers
create contours?

your hands were travellers
and the water named them makers.
you're made of lines
and quiet disaster.
you're made of mountains and laughter.

And you ate the moon
like she taught you to
and fell asleep at dawn
in the morning dew
and a nightmare knows where you are sleeping
i trapped that bad dream and skinned it swiftly
bound that book in its mangy pelt
i closed my eyes as the smoke came pouring in
fire makes fog
and the fog was hiding
us on the bridge where i swear i saw lightning
all of our gifts got hung on handles
love was a noose, we held hands up on the scaffold
when the floor gave out it felt a bit like flying
I can't tell if you're as scared as i am

we threw our windows and our eyes wide
and fearing for our lives
we stayed inside.
and we looked out
at a dying world.

we have felt our shape and felt our size
hung our laundry on old barbed wire
the farm is a flood and the town is empty
deserted dirt road in the pioneer valley
after that it rained for three weeks straight
so we changed our names and hoped they'd help us float
we were praying for rain and we nearly drowned in
a chair on a porch in a county called Franklin

we threw our windows and our eyes wide
and fearing for our lives
we stayed inside
and we looked out
at the coming storm,
bringing apocalypse and newborns.

is it a gift or a mistake?
in the last days, we love it for the night's sake.
I suppose I love this life, sometimes.

Finally found words they're pretending to be
something to hold (but even hands are fleeting)
and I suppose I love this life, sometimes.