Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Untitled, Unspoken

What do I say to you?
Bone of your bone,
Of sticks, stones and blood.

Pink paint
and premium price
and collie dog
and the love of your life

What’s a life of broken glass
Bullets and black smoke
And the all the holes
You never could quite seem to patch

And she stayed in your arms
And she held your hand
And she was a bird born to fly
And she will never fly again

The boats that blow our past the bay,
On the glass of windless morning
In the weary watch of sun set
The smell of the home and the turpentine road
The walk, the stumble of man
The breath on the water
and the Michigan’s daughter
And the stories passed on once again

                The house made to laugh once again

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